Passion Flower

by Jean Ure

  “Boring,” said Paige. She turned to Marie-Claire. “You don’t want to voir people sans clothes, do you?”

  Marie-Claire giggled and said, “Sans clothes? Ah, mais non!”

  “Me neither,” said Paige. “Let’s go back home and get something to eat. Come on, Passion! You, too.”

  Paige lived in a house a bit like the one that belonged to Ms Devine. It was all furnished with beautiful delicate antiques – little spindly chairs that looked as if they would collapse if you were gross enough to sit on them, and sofas covered in wonderful satiny stuff, and tiny little round tables standing on one leg.

  Paige seemed to take it all for granted. She led us down some indoor stairs to the basement, which was about the same size as Dad’s but had been turned into one big room with a counter running down the middle. On one side of the counter was a kitchen that Mum would have died for. It was the sort of kitchen you see in glossy magazines at the dentist’s, with rows of shiny pots and pans, and strings of garlic hanging from the ceiling, and this vast great stove with double ovens. I tried not to let my mouth hang open, as I didn’t want to look like a yokel, but I was distinctly gob-smacked. I asked Paige if Zed lived in a house like hers, and she laughed and said, “Zed! His place makes this look like a cupboard.” So then I was even more gob-smacked and wondered what he saw in me and whether he really would ring me when he got back.

  It was half-past four when I arrived home. I banged at the door, and Dad let me in.

  “Where’s your sister?” he said.

  I said, “Isn’t she here?” and my heart did this great walloping thump almost into my throat.

  “She’s not here,” said Dad. “I thought she was with you?”

  “She was,” I said, “but I – I sent her back.”

  Dad looked grave. It takes a lot to make Dad look grave. “When was this?” he said.

  “I don’t know! About… eleven o’clock?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Stephanie! That’s over five hours ago. Where can she have got to?”

  DAD WENT RUSHING up the basement steps and out into the street, as if perhaps the Afterthought might have been following without me noticing. I raced after him.

  “You’re telling me,” said Dad, “you haven’t seen her since this morning?”

  “I s-sent her back home,” I stammered. “I g-gave her the key!”

  “Not good enough,” said Dad. “Not good enough! Totally irresponsible! Where’s she likely to be? Think! Where do you usually go?”

  I said, “The p-pier?” It was the only place I could think of. The Afterthought loved the pier. She was piercrazy. She’d told me only the other day she would like to live on it, in a little booth like the one where the woman did the tattoos.

  “We’d better go and look for her,” said Dad. “Come on! Both of us! Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

  We jumped into the car and roared off towards the seafront. Dad told me again that I had behaved totally irresponsibly. I felt like saying that so had he and Mum, what with Mum running off to Spain and leaving us with someone who couldn’t even look after a pot plant. I mean, she knew what Dad was like, it wasn’t fair expecting me to cope all by myself. Dad didn’t have any right to heap all the blame on me! The only reason I didn’t say it was that I was too worried about the Afterthought.

  We reached the pier, and Dad dropped me off.

  “You go and see if you can find her in there, I’ll drive along the front. I’ll meet you back here.”

  It wasn’t easy, searching for the Afterthought on a crowded pier, but I did my best. I searched all through the slot machine rooms, both of them, squirming and burrowing amongst the bodies. I checked all the rides, I checked the tattoo booth and the cafés, I even went into the Ladies and called out, “Samanthaa?” but she wasn’t anywhere to be found and I was getting really scared.

  Dad was waiting for me in the car. I went tearing over, hoping and praying that I would see the Afterthought beaming up at me, or even scowling up at me, I wouldn’t have minded! But Dad was on his own.

  “No luck?” he said. “Are you sure you looked all over?”

  “Dad, I looked everywhere,” I said. “She’s not there!”

  “OK, hop in. We’d better drive round a bit. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  We drove slowly round the streets, me with my head hanging out of the window. A couple of times I saw girls that looked a bit like the Afterthought, and my heart leapt, but as soon as we got close I could see that it wasn’t her.

  “I just don’t know what possessed you,” said Dad. “Leaving a ten year old on her own!”

  “I told her to go back home,” I wailed.

  “Stephanie, she’s ten years old. What were you thinking of?”

  What I’d been thinking of was me. Having some time to myself, for a change, without the Afterthought tagging on and ruining things.

  “I can’t cart her round with me everywhere I go!” I said.

  “Well, I can’t be expected to take her with me,” said Dad. “I’ve got work to do. Are you keeping your eyes open?”

  Resentfully I snapped, “Yes!” I hung my head back out of the window. Already I was beginning to have scary pictures of the Afterthought on the evening news, and to hear the voice of the announcer saying how police were gravely concerned for the safety of a ten-year-old schoolgirl, Samantha Rose, who had disappeared while staying with her father and sister in Brighton. The Afterthought had been told repeatedly, we had both been told repeatedly, never to talk to strangers, never to get into a car with anyone we didn’t know. Not even if it was anyone we did know, unless we knew them really well. We had had it drummed into us by Mum. Every time we went anywhere, it was, “Just remember, d—”

  “Don’t talk to strangers!” We’d chant it in unison. “Don’t get into cars!” It had become like a sort of joke. “Mum!” we’d go. “Stop fussing!”

  I knew that the Afterthought wouldn’t normally do anything silly. I mean, she wasn’t daft. But if she’d been in one of her moods, there was no telling what she might get up to. I imagined her marching down to the pier, angry and defiant, thinking to herself that if I was having fun, she was going to have fun, too. I imagined someone watching her, seeing that she was on her own. Offering to buy her an ice cream, or take her on the turbo coaster, and the Afterthought, thinking she would show me, going off with them, all innocent and trusting, and —”Stephanie?” said Dad.

  “W-what?” I smeared the back of my hand across my eyes.

  “You OK?” said Dad.

  No! I wasn’t OK! My little sister had gone missing and it was all my fault.

  “We’ll just do one final check at home,” said Dad, “see if she’s turned up, then we —”

  He stopped, as the car began to judder and ground to a halt.

  “What is it?” I said. “What’s the matter?”

  Dad banged his fist down, hard, on the steering wheel.

  “We’re out of gas, is what’s the matter!”

  “Oh, Dad!” I said.

  “Don’t you Oh Dad me! I didn’t know we were going to have to drive halfway round town looking for your sister. Well, that’s it! No car.”

  “There was a petrol station just a little way back,” I said. “We could —”

  “Could what?” said Dad. “Fill her up? What with? Air?”

  I bit my lip.

  “I didn’t bring any money,” said Dad. “Unless you’ve got any?”

  But I hadn’t; not enough for petrol. Not even enough to just get us back home.

  “W-what shall we d-do?” I said.

  “Walk,” said Dad. “Come on! Shake a leg.”

  Dad set off really fast, with me trotting beside him.

  “If she’s not th-there,” I said, “do we g-go to the police?”

  Dad frowned. “We’ll keep our options open.”

  “But, Dad —”

  “I said we’d keep our options open.”

  “But, D —”

&n
bsp; “Stephanie! Just remember, you’re the one who’s caused all this.”

  I was starting to cry again. “M-maybe we should r-ring Mum,” I said. “She’d know what to do!”

  “Your mother’s the last person we want to bring in,” said Dad. “Oh, now, come on, Passion Flower!” He slowed up, to put an arm round me. “You’ve got to have a bit more backbone than this. She’ll show! She’s probably pottering about on the beach. We didn’t look on the beach, did we?”

  Through sniffles, I said, “The t-tide was in.”

  “Well. OK! So —” Dad waved a hand. Even he was starting to sound a bit uncertain.

  “Dad, we’ve got to go to the police!” I said.

  “All right, all right! We’ll go to the police. Let’s get home first.”

  You will never believe it! We had just arrived back, and gone down the basement steps, when my dear little sister comes skipping out of nowhere, her face one big beam from ear to ear, going, “Dad, Dad! A lady up the road has got some kittens. She said I could have one! Oh, Dad, can I? Please, Dad, say I can! Please!”

  All my instant relief turned to absolute fury. “Where have you been?” I shrieked.

  “Up the road! To see the kittens! Dad, they are so sweet.”

  “There you are,” said Dad. “I told you, didn’t I? All that fuss! I said she’d show up.”

  “But where have you been?” I screamed it at her, really loud. “I told you to come home!”

  “I did,” she said. “But then I got bored, so I went for a walk, and I met this lady, and she was getting out of her car and she dropped her shopping and all these tins of cat food went rolling about, so I helped her pick them up and she said she’d got this cat that had had kittens and would I like to see them? So I said yes, and I went in with her and —”

  “You went indoors? With a total stranger? Are you mad?” I said. “She might have kidnapped you!”

  “What would she want to do that for?” said the Afterthought. “She’s got kittens! There are two black ones and a ginger one and the dearest little fluffy one, and she said if I wanted one I could have one, like, now, immediately, ‘cos they’re ready to leave their mum, so please, Dad, can I? Please?”

  “Don’t let her!” I said. “She doesn’t deserve one!”

  “I do! Don’t be horrible!”

  “You don’t,” I said, “and I’m not being. You deserve to be smacked. We’ve been looking all over for you!”

  “And there I was, just up the road,” said the Afterthought, as if that made it all right. “Were you worried about me?”

  “Yes, we were!” I snapped. “Though goodness knows why.”

  “You shouldn’t have left me on my own,” said the Afterthought. “You’re supposed to be looking after me. Anything could have happened! I could have got lost, I could have got run over, I could have been abducted.”

  “I wish you had!” I snarled.

  “Girls, girls!” Dad held up a hand. “Don’t let’s fall out. All’s well that ends well. I’ll tell you what… let’s go and fill up the jam jar then drive out somewhere for a meal.”

  “I thought you didn’t have any money?” I said.

  “Money? I’ve got loads of money! I’ve got a whole wad.” Dad winked. “Close your eyes, both of you.”

  Obediently, we closed them. I heard Dad’s footsteps moving across the room.

  “OK! You can look… now!”

  We looked. I think my mouth fell open. Dad had a whole fistful of notes!

  “See? I told you I’d been working!”

  “It looks like you’ve won the lottery,” squealed the Afterthought.

  “I wish!” said Dad. “But I’m not complaining. So come on, let’s go!”

  All the way back to the car, the Afterthought kept on about her kittens. Dad said that we would discuss it over dinner.

  “One tiny little kitten,” said the Afterthought, as she and I sat in the car while Dad set off for the petrol station with the spare can from the boot. Empty, needless to say. I couldn’t help thinking that if it had been Mum, the spare can would have had petrol in it. But if it had been Mum, we’d probably never have needed to use the spare can in the first place.

  “He’s all little and tiny,” crooned the Afterthought.

  “Kittens usually are,” I said.

  “Yes, but he’s like a little mini one.”

  “In that case,” I said, “there’s probably something wrong with him.”

  “There isn’t! Don’t be so horrid!”

  “Well, but look, what’s the point?” I said. “You know Mum won’t let you keep it.”

  “I told you, we’re not going back to Mum!”

  It worried me when she said that. I knew it was nonsense, but it still worried me.

  Dad drove us all the way to Lewes, where he said there was a nice little pub. We sat outside, in the garden, and the Afterthought ate scampi and chips, which made my mouth water, only I wasn’t sure whether scampi counted as animal so to be on the safe side I had a baked potato filled with coleslaw, which in truth was rather boring. But sometimes you have to make sacrifices, for the good of your soul. I just wished Mum could have been there, to see me. And to see the Afterthought.

  She was still carrying on about her kitten. In the end – of course! – Dad said she could have it. The Afterthought was always able to get round Dad. Mum once said, “If that child asked you for an elephant, you’d go out and buy her one.”

  I’m not sure he’d have bought an elephant for me, but then I would never have asked.

  When he said she could have her kitten, the Afterthought flew round the table and hugged him.

  “Darling Dad! Sweet Dad!”

  Yuck yuck yuck. But Dad seemed to like it. He promised that we would ring the cat lady as soon as we got home. The Afterthought flashed me this look of triumph.

  “Mum will never let her keep it,” I said. I knew this wouldn’t make an atom of difference, but I just wanted to hear what Dad had to say.

  Dad didn’t say anything: the Afterthought got in first.

  “It’s nothing to do with Mum! Mum won’t know anything about it!”

  “She will if you try taking it home.”

  “We’re not going home! Are we, Dad? We’re not going home! We’re staying with you.”

  “Would you rather stay with me?” said Dad.

  “Yes! ‘Cos you give me kittens!”

  “Stephie? How about you?”

  “I – don’t know,” I said. “How would we live? And what about school?”

  “Who cares about school?” scoffed the Afterthought.

  “I do!” I said. “I’ve got friends.”

  “Only Vix!”

  “She’s my best friend. I’ve got others!”

  “Mum doesn’t want us back, anyway,” said the Afterthought.

  “Dad!” I appealed to him. “That’s not true, is it? It’s not true! Tell her!”

  “There, there.” Dad patted my hand. “Don’t get in a lather. It may never happen.”

  I said, “What? What may never happen?”

  “Anything,” said Dad. “The end of the world, little green men from Mars… just take life as it comes. That’s my motto.”

  “Mum still won’t let her keep the kitten,” I said.

  “Stephanie, you worry too much,” said Dad. “It ain’t worth it. It’ll all come out in the wash.”

  There were times when I really couldn’t understand what Dad was talking about. It was one of the things that used to get Mum so mad at him. She called it “evading the issue”

  “Can’t give a straight answer to a straight question!”

  The minute we got home, the Afterthought insisted that Dad rang about the kitten.

  “Don’t forget, it’s the fluffy one… I want the fluffy one!”

  She got the fluffy one.

  I have to say, he was really cute! Like a little black furry imp, skittering about the place. The Afterthought couldn’t think what to call him
, so Dad suggested Titch.

  “Yes,” crowed the Afterthought, “‘cos he’s titchy!”

  I said, “What happens if he grows big? He might grow enormous!”

  “In that case,” said Dad, “it will be funny… Titchy, Titchy, Titchy! And then this monstrous great bruiser of a cat lumbers up.”

  “He’s not going to be a bruiser,” said the Afterthought. “He’s going to stay as a titch!”

  Having a kitten really transformed the Afterthought. I suddenly realised, it was months since I’d seen her happy and laughing. Ever since Dad left home, she’d been just about as mean as she could be. She’d been really hateful to Mum. Looking back I could see that I hadn’t behaved all that well, but the Afterthought had deliberately gone out of her way to be hurtful. I could understand why Mum had packed us off. I would have packed us off. But now she had Titch, the Afterthought was all smiles. She told me that I could share him.

  “He’ll be my cat, but you can cuddle him. If you want to.”

  Anyone would have wanted to! He was just so adorable. I didn’t say any more about Mum not letting us keep him; I thought that even Mum, once she saw him, would be unable to resist. I still couldn’t really believe what the Afterthought had said, about us not going back, but I did ask Dad if I could telephone Mum and find out when she was expecting us.

  “Best not,” said Dad. “She gave me strict instructions… only call if there’s an emergency.”

  “But you have got a number for her?” I said.

  “I’ve got a number,” said Dad. “But it would be as much as my life’s worth to let you use it! You know how your mum terrifies me.”

  “Oh, Dad!” I said. “She doesn’t!”

  “Are you kidding?” said Dad. “She could even frazzle me down a phone line!”

  He was making like it was a big joke, but he wouldn’t let me have the number. He said Mum really had told him that she didn’t want to be disturbed.

  “But how are we to know if she’s all right?” I wailed.

  “She’ll be all right,” said Dad. “Don’t you worry about your mum. She’s one tough cookie!”