by Cath Howe
Love, Ella
Next day, in Willow class, I sat with Molly and Bryony as usual and, after the maths test, when I read out the wrong answer, there was a little ripple of laughs from where Lydia sat. I felt myself go scarlet. They were talking about me.
The clenching feeling began in my stomach.
Did Lydia’s friends know about Dad now?
I peeped over. Zing did a little shrug and turned away from me. Sophie whispered something to Rachel.
Sophie was definitely the first one Lydia would choose. She’d take her in a corner, maybe invite her for tea. Yes, that’s how it would be. “Do you want to know something really juicy about Ella… Well…?”
Each time I looked over, Lydia’s eyes fixed on me, concentrating, unblinking, like a cat on a fence when you try to win the staring match and you never do.
I went into the loos and Sophie came out, saw me, made her face blank and walked past.
Rachel pushed a tiny slip of paper into my school planner saying, “I’m not taking sides, but I’m going to have to hate you. Love Rachel.”
On the Internet, Jack and I once watched a watermelon being exploded. It was shown so slowly you could see the moment when the sides split and the whole shape of the melon was opening and breaking, before all the chunks and juice flew up in a hail of pink gunk. That was me. Lydia had exploded me and all the little pieces were trying to be Ella shape but there was no shape any more, just flying bits.
Had Lydia told them all? Even if she hadn’t, she could, any time she wanted. My secret would spread right round school until the teachers were looking at me too, thinking I was a bad person when they hardly even knew me. No one would ever invite me to anything.
I answered when people spoke to me, ate my lunch. I even did some colouring with Bryony. But I wasn’t a proper whole person.
And how could I go back to art club again after half-term? Maybe I should just not go. Or ask Molly to stop going? Would Molly leave the club if I asked her? What did Lydia want me to do? How could I make her like me again?
At home, Jack was being a pain. I discovered a mouldy apple in my bed so I wedged a chair under the door handle of his room. “You’re trapped,” I told him. “I will never let you out. You will starve to death and no one will ever find you!” He twisted the door handle and hammered on the door but it held firm. He howled so loudly that Mrs Reynolds came and found us and made us sit on opposite sides of the kitchen and stare at each other until Mum got home. Mum was furious. She made me say sorry and threatened to take my phone away.
We broke up for half-term. A whole week with no one to play with except stupid Jack and Mrs Reynolds looking after us so Mum could be at work.
Mrs Reynolds put a plastic tunnel in the garden for Jack but then we fought because we both tried to get inside at the exact same moment and the side got torn. Mrs Reynolds said we should learn a lesson from that. Then Jack had his friend Sammy round and they ran up and down the garden screaming and throwing each other into the wet leaves and I just stayed in my room and said no thanks when Mrs Reynolds asked me if I’d like to make fairy cakes and decorate them. She let me wander by the river while she and Jack fed the ducks and I took lots of photos. I tried texting Grace again but she didn’t reply.
I listened to the noise of my class on the first day back, so full of people calling out to their friends. I nodded to Molly and sat beside her and Bryony. I didn’t look at Lydia’s group, even though I could hear them giggling and chatting. I wanted them to forget me. I would fade and fade and be… nobody.
But, at break, Lydia came to find me. “Ella,” she said. “Come outside.”
We put our coats on and walked out into the school garden. Everything was dead out there. I blew on my hands and saw my breath spiralling up. I waited for Lydia to say something.
She raked her shoe along the edge of the gravel. “I’ve forgiven you,” she said in a firm voice.
“Have you?” I asked.
We walked up and down and watched some infants watering the dead plants.
“Yes. But I want Operation 13 to be solved. The picture you sent me is too blurry. You’re a photographer, Miss Denby said.”
My stomach started to grip me again. “I don’t understand.”
“I want a picture of the strange dark creature, a proper photo, right in the room.”
Lydia had planned what she was going to say.
“I know you can do it. You’ve been my brave Ella Criminella and you’re nearly finished. When this is all over, we’ll know the truth.”
“But… it’s Molly’s house,” I said.
“I know. Find an excuse. You’ll think of one.”
“But…”
“I don’t want to tell all the others about your dad being a criminal but… I might have to… if you forget to help me.”
I stared into Lydia’s cold blue eyes. “Prove to me how brave you are,” she said. “Then we’ll forget everything. Everything. Start again with a new Ella.”
I had to sit next to Molly the rest of that day. The sneaking thing Lydia had told me to do seemed to be in the air all around me.
I would be a burglar.
Miss Denby told me, in art club, that Aborigines in Australia believe that when you take a photo you are stealing a part of someone’s soul. My stomach rolled and coiled. I flicked a look at Molly working quietly beside me. She seemed to feel my eyes and looked up. I wished I could tell her all of a sudden. Would she understand? No, of course she wouldn’t. I looked down at my paper again and heard her sigh.
Don’t ever go in my house, she’d said.
I would tell Lydia no.
I rubbed my wrist with my pen lid: back, forward, back, forward.
Lydia had said we could start again with a new Ella. If she did forget about Dad, people in my class might like me. Moor Lane might be home. I might get invited to someone’s house for tea. Tears started in my eyes. Lydia hadn’t said anything about coming for tea, had she? She was making me go in Molly’s house and take the photo, but it wasn’t fun.
Had Dad felt like this about the money stealing? He must have, mustn’t he? Did he go and get the money on a dark night, like burglars in stories? Did he carry it in a big dark bag… creeping, sneaking…?
My whole body turned hot. I would take that photo. Tonight.
I realised suddenly that lots of my class were staring at me. I must have been scraping at my hand with the pen lid. A jagged ‘V’ of skin had started to bleed. I licked the sore place, pulled my jumper over it.
“Are you all right, Ella?” Mr Hales asked.
“Y-y-yes. I just can’t do number six.” My head went down to stare at my page again.
“We’ll go over them in a minute,” Mr Hales said.
Chapter 17
Surprise!
Dad,
Have you got some friends in prison? Please could you tell me their names?
I’m wondering if we could come and see you when it’s Christmas. I think we should come. If we’re staying at Grandma’s, we will be near you – I looked on a map. Or, could you have a holiday from being in prison, just for a weekend or something?
Love, Ella
A long evening with Mrs Reynolds fussing over our homework while I waited for the dark.
At half past nine, after Mum had come up to say goodnight, she went back down and started typing. I pulled on all my clothes and put my coat on top, collected what I needed, softly closed the front door and stepped out into the cold night air. Street lamps made pools of light. There was nobody about. A car drove by, its bright headlights sweeping on and down and away.
What would I see inside the darkness of the maze? I remembered the camera in the art room, the feeling of the camera’s eye looking… choosing. Like a fox on a dark night hunting for food. It wouldn’t be me taking a picture – it would be a camera eye catching the truth. Yes, that felt better.
I held my phone in my hand. The bulky weight in my pocket: the green and yellow stripy not
ebook rubbed against my leg. It was one from our family holiday two years ago, before Dad was taken away. He had been with me when I chose it, tapping impatiently on his phone, trying to get a signal in the little Spanish shop full of hats and bags and souvenirs, saying, “Does it really matter so much which one, Ella?” Then laughing when I said, “Yes, Dad, it really does.”
Don’t think. All ready to start again with a new Ella.
If I went in fast, even the creature person wouldn’t really see me. Lydia was only asking for a click – less than a second. Like a blink. I would pretend I’d forgotten that Molly had told me not to go inside her house. I would say, “Oh, whoops, sorry about that. I’m just off anyway. No harm done.”
Mum would never know I’d told Lydia about Dad.
No harm done.
I turned into the lane of garages, pulled myself up over the fence, scraping my legs on the dry wood and fell. Ow! I slid between Nelson’s cage and Molly’s fence and pushed through the long grass. Nelson must be listening to me.
There was no light on in the kitchen. The back door wasn’t locked.
The kitchen smelled sour, like an old cloth. There were jars and packets on the surfaces. I opened the door into the hall. A hush, like a library. My legs felt all wobbly. Here it was again: the feeling of all the piled-up things closing round me. A wardrobe blocked my way. I stepped round, crashed against a chimney pot. A web trailed across my mouth. Yuck. I switched on the torch on my phone. I gazed around, trembling beside some huge piece of furniture with carved figures on it – faces with wide grins… snakeish – leaping…
I spun round. A rocking horse wobbled above me, its bright glaring mouth ready to swallow me. My heart did a dance of terror. The spectre of Molly’s mum would rise up, pointing her bony finger and kill me with a single glance. She would curse me. She would take me prisoner and drag me down with her to curl forever in the seashell deep. The piles were alive, creaking softly, like the grim walls of a palace.
In the front room where I first saw the curled-up figure, I flashed my light into the gap between the furniture. Nothing now; just an old fireplace and a rolled-up carpet. I shrank back to the hallway. Faint light was coming from up above, muffled sounds.
Upstairs then.
I switched my torch off and changed to the camera. Old faded stair carpet. An obstacle course of things on every step: wobbly-looking piles of books, shoes, a bike saddle. One step. Two. Phone clammy in my hand. Soft pant of my breath. As I neared the door of the upstairs room, someone started coughing. Panic swelled inside me. I must take the photo the minute the door was open. Should I shout something? “Surprise!”
They don’t want any callers, the woman at the Co-op had said.
I pushed the door. I glimpsed a chair and, beside it, a sofa… a figure stretched out. I held my phone up. I pointed. Click click click lighting up the room.
“Is that you, Molly?” the figure murmured, turning over.
Click click for luck.
I dived behind the chair, scrolled to Lydia’s number and sent the photo. Here it is, I texted.
I slid back to the door and out on to the landing. My hand wouldn’t stop shaking. I dropped the phone, scrabbled around to pick it up, looked down. Molly was coming up the stairs, carrying a plate and mug. Her face changed. She glared up at me. “Ella?”
“I… I… wanted to see you,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you in my house?” Her eyes fell on the phone between my hands. I cupped my fingers over it.
The hoarse voice called from inside the room. “Molly, love, is that you?”
“I’m coming,” Molly called and then, to me, “Wait in the kitchen.”
There in the dark at the top of the stairs, I clicked on the photo I had sent to Lydia. My screen showed a figure lying on a sofa, not curled up like last time, hair all standing out like bits of crazy wire… A woman… chalky thin face… trailing black dressing-gown thing, long white fingers. Under her eyes, bags of grey. Medicines and bottles and plates around her. My mind lurched.
Molly’s mum looked… sick.
Chapter 18
Camera’s Truth
Dear Dad,
Mum says it’s the turn of the year. The leaves are falling. I remember when you and me and Jack raked them all into a massive pile in our garden last year and then we all ended up having a leaf fight and falling in a heap laughing. Do you remember that, Dad?
Love, Ella
What had I done?
I’d sent Lydia a photo of a sick, sad woman. Molly must be trying to look after her. Why would anyone want a photo of someone’s mum like that?
It was wrong.
Molly’s voice carried from inside the room, urging her mum to eat. “I brought you some toast,” she was saying.
I felt as if a great wave was washing over me. I thought about Lydia. All the things she’d told me to do – they were always about Molly. But Molly hadn’t done anything to Lydia, just ignored her. And I remembered how Lydia had made me feel about my eczema at her sleepover, the way she treated all her friends.
I found my way back down the stairs to the kitchen and clicked on Lydia’s number. “I’m inside Molly’s house,” I whispered when she answered.
She giggled. “Oh, Ella. Get out!”
My voice came out strong. “Lydia, you have to delete the picture I just sent.”
There was a little pause. “Go home, Ella,” she said.
My phone went dead.
I texted her. Delete the photo. Don’t show it to anyone. It was a bad thing to do.
I waited for Molly. When she came in, I held out the stripy notebook. “I brought you this,” I said. “For your drawing.”
Molly sighed. She turned the bright notebook between her fingers. “I told you not to come in,” she said. She sounded very tired.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I understand now.”
Molly went to the sink and put the plate and cup in the washing-up bowl.
“That’s your mum, isn’t it? You told me she was busy collecting furniture and—”
Molly interrupted. “Mum’s not well.” She looked down into the sink. “Can I tell you, Ella? I feel as if I can but I don’t want you to talk to anyone else.”
No wonder Molly didn’t trust me.
I had another thought, too. When I told Lydia about Dad, I’d felt ashamed of him, worrying that if people found out they wouldn’t like me. Did Molly feel ashamed about her mum too?
“Tell me,” I said.
“Dad used to have a shop. He knew lots of people. Mum was always different: shy, not going out much. Dad had an accident in our car and he was killed. That was more than a year ago. Since then, Mum won’t leave the house at all. I’ve tried to persuade her, but she just won’t.”
“Is all the furniture and pots and things from your dad’s shop?”
“Yes. It’s closed. Mum said she would sort through and sell it all but she never has.”
“So you buy all the food, look after her. You do all of it?”
“We’ll be all right.” Molly’s jaw jutted. She clenched her fists. “Mum will get better again. I bought her some medicines.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“They mustn’t.” Molly’s voice turned fierce. “They would take Mum away. Put me in care. I’ve heard about it. The day you came and had the lemonade, you were the first person for a whole year.”
I stared at Molly, full of horror. I hadn’t come to be her friend that day – I had come to spy. How lonely she must be, on her own with her mum. How miserable. Not having anyone at school, not having a friend to tell all this time. I knew how that felt… to not have a friend. To lose your dad. But my dad would come back to us. Molly didn’t even have that. My head reeled.
“On Sunday, please will you come round to my house?” I said. “Get what your mum needs then come round, whenever you want.”
Molly smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes, I will.”
Chapter 19
A Friend for Tea
Dad,
Have you stopped writing to me? Are you cross with me?
Please write to me again.
Ella
On Saturday I told Mum I had invited a friend round, and on Sunday afternoon Molly came.
I texted Lydia. You have deleted the photo, haven’t you? I will explain on Monday. Ella
I sent the message twice.
I didn’t know how the visit would be. Molly was so quiet. What would we say to each other? The bad feelings about Lydia and the spying swirled inside me. Start again with a new Ella… I didn’t know who Ella was any more. I just knew I felt so bad about Molly.
When our doorbell rang, Molly was on the step in a brown tracksuit that looked too small and I felt strange bringing her into my house. But she seemed really excited.
She looked at the star charts that Mum had made on the fridge, while we had a drink.
I am trying hard not to fight with Jack.
I am trying hard not to scratch my hands or rub the backs of my knees against hot surfaces.
I am trying hard to be polite.
I am trying hard to look after my new phone, collect it from the office and not gloat about it to Jack.
Signed Ella
“What happens when the gold stars reach the end?” Molly asked.
“Mum’ll let me choose something,” I said.
“Like a present?”
