by Cath Howe
“I can be a shopkeeper!” Jack said.
“It’s very grand,” I said. “Try… thirty-one pounds and twenty-six pence.” Jack pressed the buttons down hard – clack, clack, clack – and the numbers popped up in the top window.
“You have to turn the handle,” Molly murmured. “I remember doing this… a long time ago.” She ran her fingers over the complicated metal designs on the side.
Jack wound the handle and there was a massive ding as the drawer flew open. “Look, there’s even money inside.” He scooped up some dark brown coins. “That was cool!” he said. “Let’s do it again. Thank you, madam!”
Jack rang up some more charges. I tried all the buttons down one side. Some were quite stiff and the colours were flaking off but the cash register still felt very smart.
“We’ll have to take the photos from the front and the side because they’re both beautiful,” I told Molly when Jack moved off to look at the rocking horse. “It’s almost like a jewellery box. I don’t know how much cash registers are worth. Maybe if I take a good photo after we clean it up, Mrs Reynolds’ friend would look it up on the Internet and find out what it’s worth and then we could…”
I stopped.
Molly was staring at me. “Leave it alone!” she snapped, her mouth wobbling. “I’m keeping it.”
I realised with a horrid jolt that she was crying. Mum appeared behind Molly and just put her arms round her. “Shall we put it in your room, Molly?” she said. “Of course you should keep it.”
And then Mum and Molly heaved the cash register between them and disappeared upstairs to Molly’s room and I was left just standing there, on my own, in the middle of all the mess.
I gulped. A big lump had arrived in my chest. It pushed hard against me. Had I mucked everything up? Had I hurt Molly again?
Jack appeared with a huge basket and said, “I’m taking this,” and disappeared outside.
Molly’s and Mum’s voices sounded again, coming downstairs.
“Molly’s going outside for a while,” Mum said as Molly disappeared off towards the kitchen like a shadow.
I helped Mum finish the lists for a bit longer. I wished I was with Molly but I stayed with Mum. I felt as if I might get everything wrong again if I went to see her. I might make her sad. It was better if I was just a list-making person who didn’t talk about selling things. Soon Mum and I had labelled everything in the room and swept the floor so we could see the floorboards.
“Ella!” Molly’s voice called from the kitchen. “We need you outside!”
She sounded different.
Mum grinned and stretched. “Well, go on, love, you’ve been brilliant. I could murder a cup of tea.”
“I’m coming!” I called back.
I pushed open the back door to the garden. I blinked then gasped.
Spread out across the grass were a chimney pot on its side, shelves, pots, stools, even an old toilet, all making ramps and slopes, and Molly and Jack were beckoning me and waving.
Jack leapt and giggled. “Come and look! It’s our amazing obstacle race. You climb over all the things as fast as you can right round the garden. And you mustn’t miss anything out.”
I began to laugh.
“Some things are quite wobbly,” Molly called, holding out her arms to help me into the washing basket beside her. “And it was so funny when Nelson hid in the chimney pot.” She grinned and grabbed me in a hug. “We can race properly, Jack, now Ella’s here.”
Chapter 28
A New Ella
Dear Dad,
I took this photo especially for you.
The tall girl you can see laughing, with the long dark curly hair, is my friend Molly. And you know both the others. I like the way Mum is tickling Jack – he’s doing his extreme giggling face. I like the way the sun makes Nelson’s fur gleam and all the crazy furniture and things standing in the long grass.
I wanted to make Molly’s house be all tidy and sorted out and it is, a bit. But best of all were the games we made up in the garden because Mum was joining in and Molly and Jack and me were running and chasing and all the extra furniture and chimney pots and boxes and stools made the best obstacle course ever.
Even though there’s still lots to do, I realised we were going to be all right. You can’t always sort out everything, but that’s OK. You can still be happy even if there is some mess.
Do you know what I mean?
I wish you had been with us, Dad. I know you would have loved the obstacle course. But I know we can make another one when you come home.
Mum says hello again.
Ella
On Monday, in school, I felt a nudge beside me. “We’ve moved,” chorused two voices. It was Rachel and Immy.
“We’ve come to sit next to you,” Rachel said, flopping down and dumping her bag on the table.
“We’ve done a swap with Joshua and Marcus. Mr Hales said it’s OK,” Immy said.
I smiled. “That’s brilliant.”
Over at the other side of the room, Lydia was standing behind her table, still in her coat, gripping her school bag, staring at me with furious piercing eyes. “Sophie’s away,” Immy said, following my stare. “And Zing has asked to move to the front to sit with Emily.”
I went on staring at Lydia.
“How’s your mum, Molly?” I heard Immy ask.
“She’s getting better,” I heard Molly say, “much better.”
Lydia slowly took out her pencil case, looked down at the wide grey tabletop and smoothed it with her hand. Her mouth twitched.
I turned and smiled at Immy.
“This is a great place to sit,” Immy said. “You can see the playground from here. And Mr Hales says we have to plan our Christmas assembly in groups. We’ll all be able to work together.”
“I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas,” I said.
“Too noisy, that group by the window,” Mr Hales called, looking over at us. “You’re all supposed to be reading.”
“I am reading,” Immy murmured.
We all giggled and pulled our reading books from our bags.
In the last art club before the Christmas holidays I had Molly beside me.
Miss Denby brought lemonade and cakes for us all and we all made cards with Christmas trees.
As we were all packing up, Miss Denby came over.
“Molly’s spending part of Christmas with us,” I told her.
She winked at me and said, “I want to see lots more of your photos after the Christmas break. And lots more fantastic sketches from you, Molly.”
Molly smiled and went on tidying away the paints.
“I’m thinking we might have an exhibition after Christmas, if you are all keen,” Miss Denby told everyone. “Lydia, will you be coming along again next term?”
“I might do drama,” came Lydia’s sharp reply from the other side of the room. “See if that’s more interesting.”
Miss Denby caught my eye and did a tiny eye-roll. “Good idea. Ella here would never have realised her special talent for photography if she hadn’t tried out lots of different things, would you, Ella?”
Snap! Lydia slammed her art case shut. “I can’t stay chatting. I’m going to Hannah’s cinema party.” She pushed past me and made for the door. “I must go home and get ready.”
I caught the sneer at the side of her mouth as she stared at Molly and me.
“We’d better get going, Molly,” I called, grabbing my bag. “Hannah invited us too. Hope you have a nice Christmas, Miss Denby!”
Dear Dad,
Mum says we can come on an actual visit to you at Christmas when we are staying at Grandma’s. Hooray!
Mum says see you soon.
I’m so happy we’re coming to see you. I am going to bring you some banana and chocolate chip cake. I’m practising making it. Here is a photo of some.
Love, Ella
I’m still a pair person really, I think.
I’m always going to be somewhere round th
e edge in school. But now I’ve found Molly she seems to understand what I’m thinking. She’s like me.
I’ve realised I quite like being on the outside; I can watch everything that’s going on.
Dear Ella,
I’m so happy you are coming, love. Say thank you to Mum. See you at Christmas.
Love you.
Dad
Acknowledgements
The idea for Ella on the Outside sprang from a morning I spent at Thameside Prison along with the families of prisoners. We watched a show performed by the inmates. The children’s pride in their dads and their delight in the chance to be a family again during this brief visit haunted me and set me thinking.
My book would not be the same without some special people in my life. My huge thanks go to:
The Howes: Adrian, Judith, Ella and Miranda and The Briggses: D and D, Al and Nancy for all your encouragement and support.
My writers’ group (Julian, Kryss, Lesley, Carolyn, and Clare) who meet regularly at the National Theatre in London. Thanks for honest feedback and all the laughs we’ve shared.
Jess Palmer, Sue Wallman and Yvonne Hennessy, for your friendship and inspiration.
Anne Clark, my agent, for her wise advice.
Tom Bonnick, my editor and all at Nosy Crow for staying faithful to the heart of my writing.
Copyright
First published 2018 by Nosy Crow Ltd
The Crow’s Nest, 14 Baden Place
Crosby Row, London SE1 1YW
www.nosycrow.com
ISBN: 978 1 78800 033 8
eISBN: 978 1 78800 034 5
Nosy Crow and associated logos are trademarks
and/or registered trademarks of Nosy Crow Ltd
Text © Cath Howe 2018
Cover typography © Joel Holland 2018
Cover artwork © Nicola Theobald 2018
The right of Cath Howe to be identified as the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of Nosy Crow Ltd.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Printed and bound in the UK by Clays Ltd, St Ives Plc.
Typeset by Tiger Media.
Papers used by Nosy Crow are made from wood grown in sustainable forests.
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