Secrets

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I’ll have to go back some time. And then he’ll get me. It’s like he’s all Anne Frank’s Gestapo rolled up into one monstrous man.

  India’s right about The Diary of Anne Frank. It’s a great book. It starts off just like it’s any girl’s diary. She writes about her birthday presents and all the girls in her class, having a moan about most of them. Then she goes on about her boyfriends. That bit’s irritating. But then suddenly she has to go into hiding and the whole story changes dramatically. Well, it isn’t a story, it was her real life. I’ve looked at the last page. It has the worst possible end.

  It’s weird to think Anne Frank would be an old lady now if she’d managed to stay in hiding those few extra months until the end of the war. They stayed in the secret annexe more than two years.

  I don’t know how I’m going to manage two days. I’m so lonely. I wish India would come back. But this Wanda has come home now. I heard India say loudly, ‘Oh Wanda, you’re back already’ – obviously hoping I’d hear and realize I had to keep quiet now.

  It is soooo quiet here. At least Anne had her sister and her parents and Peter and his family. I wouldn’t even mind the grumpy old dentist. I just want someone to talk to. Anyone.

  OK. I’ll make someone.

  There! I’ve used some of the Moya Upton clothes, stuffing T-shirts into a sweater and a pair of jeans so that they plump out as if someone is wearing them. I’ve rolled a T-shirt into a ball and stuck it on top of the sweater with a funny woolly hat on top. I’ve made a Clothes Person. I could call her Kitty, just like Anne Frank’s imaginary friend.

  Kitty is lucky. She doesn’t need to go to the loo. I do.

  She hasn’t got any ears so she doesn’t keep hearing footsteps.

  She hasn’t got a nose so she can’t smell the waste bin.

  She hasn’t got any eyes so she can’t see this spooky old attic. At least there is a light. I’m going to keep it on all the time, even when I’m asleep.

  Only I can’t sleep. I don’t have a watch but I think it must be the middle of the night. I heard two people go to the bathroom one after the other, India and Wanda. The water tank gurgled and splashed later on. I think her parents used their bathroom on the first floor. No-one’s moved around for ages now. I’ve read another hundred pages of Anne Frank. I’ve drawn a special thank-you card for India, with a picture of the two of us, hugging. I had to have several attempts. The first time I drew India too big and I was worried it would upset her. The second time I coloured my scar in too vigorously so it looked like Terry had hacked my head in two. So it was third time lucky, and when I’d coloured us in more carefully this time, I enclosed us in a red heart and drew multi-coloured daisies to fill up the rest of the page. Then in my very best nearly-italic writing I wrote: To India, the Best Friend in all the World.

  She will like it a lot, I know. I felt good all the time I was drawing my picture. Not quite so lonely. But now I feel bad again. And maybe it’s silly to say India is my best friend because I’ve only known her a little while. I don’t know much about her. I still feel a bit shy with her sometimes, not cosy like I do with Patsy.

  I wish I could cuddle up with Patsy now.

  No, I wish I could cuddle up with Nan.

  Oh, Nan.

  Oh, Nan.

  Oh, Nan.

  I don’t think I went to sleep until it was nearly morning. I woke with a terrible start when the trapdoor opened. I didn’t know where I was. I covered my head in case it was Terry coming to get me. But of course it was India, carefully balancing a proper breakfast tray one-handed.

  I feel so mean moaning that I might have to live on chocolate. This is what she brought me for breakfast: a bowl of cornflakes with brown sugar and sliced bananas and milk, two slices of toast, one with honey, one with apricot jam, a saucer of strawberries, a glass of fresh orange juice, and a cup of tea.

  ‘I’ve spilt half the tea,’ she said sadly.

  ‘It’s perfect! Wonderful. Thanks ever so much, India.’

  I looked at the big silver shiny thing she’d tucked under one arm. ‘Is that a saucepan lid?’

  India went pink. ‘It’s Mum’s biggest wok lid. I was thinking about the bin, you see.’ She went over to the waste bin in the corner, delicately averting her eyes, and dropped the lid on top. It fitted snugly.

  ‘There! I just thought it would be nicer and easier when I empty it. Which I’ll do now, while everyone’s still asleep.’

  So I sat back like Little Lady Muck and ate my beautiful breakfast while poor India trundled off with the sloppety bin. Goodness knows how she got it down those steps without dropping it. She brought it back all fresh and smelling of Toilet Duck.

  She stayed for a long time too, both of us in our nightclothes. We were suddenly just like two girls having a sleepover party. We mucked about and got the giggles (stifled) and played silly paper games like noughts and crosses and hangman and battleships. I’ve always been heaps better than anyone else at paper games (there’s no point playing Patsy because I always win) but India is a challenge.

  I did beat her twice though – and she didn’t guess my hangman word though I was sure she would: SECRET ANNEXE. Then she wanted to challenge me to an Anne Frank quiz but it was obvious who would win. We both drew her instead. We chose our favourite photo from the diary and copied it. India’s was neater, with a border of little checked diaries and pens, and she managed a better likeness too. India politely said my drawing was much better than hers, but we both knew she was fibbing.

  ‘I wish I looked like Anne,’ said India, stroking the photo. ‘Hasn’t she got the most beautiful eyes ever? She looks so intelligent, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t like her hair much. Why did she have to curl it like that? I think she’d look much better with straight hair, and longer, past her shoulders. I wish I had long hair. You’re lucky, India.’ I pulled one of her fuzzy plaits.

  ‘I hate my hair. I’d much sooner have soft floppy hair like yours. I love the way your fringe goes. It looks cute.’

  She patted it – and I winced automatically.

  ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry! Is your cut still sore?’

  ‘No, not really, not a bit.’

  India gently parted my fringe and looked at the scar.

  ‘How could he, Treasure?’ she whispered.

  ‘You should see what he’s done to my mum. He broke her jaw, he knocked out two teeth, he punched her in the stomach when she was expecting little Gary—’

  ‘Then why on earth does she stay with him?’ India asked, looking astonished.

  ‘Well . . . she loves him.’

  ‘You can’t love someone who punches you.’

  ‘Yes you can, if you’re stupid, like my mum. He goes all smarmy afterwards and he cries and swears it will never happen again. She’s mad enough to believe it.’

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ said India, shaking her head. ‘No-one could believe him.’

  India gets it now! This afternoon she came back with a PORTABLE TELEVISION!

  ‘Well, it seemed like a good idea. Wanda’s out and Dad’s asleep and Mum’s gone to her workshop so no-one will ever know,’ said India, out of breath from lugging it up the stairs.

  ‘You’ll be carrying your entire bedroom up here soon,’ I said. ‘Still, what a great idea!’

  India switched it on and fiddled about until she got a programme.

  ‘Ah, the news,’ I said. ‘Wonder if I’m on it, eh?’

  I was joking – but I WAS!

  There was a piece about a politician, then something about the countryside, all the usual boring stuff, but then suddenly there was a photo of me right above the newsreader’s head.

  ‘It’s me, India, look!’

  ‘That’s not you!’ said India, though they were reading my name out right that minute.

  She didn’t recognize me because it was an ages-old photo, from nearly two years ago when I was a little kid. We were on holiday at the seaside, Mum and me, and although I’
m little I look bigger in the photo, all bouncy and smiley with my hair scooped up in silly little bunches. And there with his hand on my shoulder, giving me a hug, is Terry the Torturer. The horrible thing is, I’m looking up at him with this stupid grin on my face. We’d just met up with him and his kids and he was making this big fuss of my mum and me, taking us on all the rides at the funfair and treating us to pizzas and fish and chips and ice-cream. Every time he bought Kyle and Bethany any game or T-shirt or baseball cap he bought me one too. I fell for him just as heavily as Mum, even though I’m meant to be the bright one.

  I hate that photo. The newsreader said that I’d been missing twenty-four hours. There’s been a big police search but so far no-one has spotted me – though there are unconfirmed reports of my going off with some man.

  ‘I wouldn’t go off with any man! Are they nuts?’ I said.

  ‘It’s just like when Anne and her family went into hiding. There were all these rumours that they’d gone here, there and everywhere. People swore they’d seen them.’

  ‘Sh! Look! Oh God!’

  They were showing Nan’s flat – but she was edged right into a corner. You could just see a strand of her fair hair and a bit of her shoulder as she sat on the arm of the sofa. My mum was right in the middle, holding baby Gary, with Terry beside her, his arm round them both. Mum was crying. Terry was crying too, his green eyes spilling tears.

  ‘We’re so worried about our Treasure,’ he said, straight to camera. His voice was husky with emotion. ‘Please come home, darling – if you can.’

  Mum burst into fresh floods and Terry pulled her closer, all tender concern.

  I wanted to vomit.

  Fourteen

  India

  I CAN’T BELIEVE that awful scary Terry could seem so heartbroken. He is brilliant at acting. It was so strange seeing Treasure’s family on television. They interviewed a senior police officer who said they were becoming increasingly concerned for Treasure’s safety. He urged the public to come forward if they had seen her. But no-one at all can see her – except me!

  It’s so extraordinary. All the police are out searching for her when all the time Treasure’s safe and sound in my secret attic.

  Well, she’s safe. I’m not sure about sound. She isn’t very well today. She’s worrying about her nan so she’s all tense and that makes her chest tight and she gets asthma. When it’s bad she wheezes in-between words as if she’s a little old lady. She needs her inhaler but she’s lost her bag. There’s a spare inhaler at her nan’s though.

  ‘Can’t you go and see her after school, India?’ Treasure begged. ‘You could get her on her own and whisper where I am. She won’t tell. You can trust my nan. And then she can slip you my spare inhaler.’

  ‘But what if Terry and your mum are still there? If they see me again they might start to get really suspicious. It’s too risky.’

  Treasure sighed wheezily. She sat all hunched up, her fists clenched as she fought for breath.

  ‘Try to relax, Treasure. Straighten your shoulders and take deep breaths.’

  ‘I – can’t – breathe – you – nut,’ she gasped.

  I massaged her shoulders and back, talking to her all the time, telling her to breathe in and out, in and out—

  ‘Shut – up – you – berk,’ said Treasure.

  But it was helping! She was soon breathing almost normally.

  ‘How did you know what to do?’

  ‘I think maybe I saw some stuff on Casualty,’ I admitted.

  ‘Do you want to be a nurse then?’

  ‘Well, I want to be a writer, like Anne. But I wouldn’t mind being a doctor. No, a surgeon, I’d like that, cutting people open and doing complicated operations. I’m not a bit squeamish.’

  ‘Just as well when you have to empty my horrible bin,’ said Treasure, shuddering.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I said.

  Well, it is pretty revolting actually, but I can manage. Wanda saw me coming out of the bathroom carrying the emptied bin and stared in astonishment.

  ‘Why have you got the bin and a saucepan lid?’ she said.

  ‘It’s . . . personal,’ I said.

  Wanda looked a little embarrassed.

  ‘Oh! I see,’ she said, and disappeared into the bathroom herself.

  I heard her being sick. I hoped she hadn’t got some bug. I didn’t want Treasure to get it. I told her when I nipped up the attic steps. Treasure looked at me as if I was stupid.

  ‘She could have a tummy bug, or she could be going to have a baby,’ she said.

  It was like an alarm bell going off inside my brain. I couldn’t bear it. Treasure thought I was shaking my head because I didn’t believe her.

  ‘I don’t know, of course. It’s just my mum threw up a lot when she was pregnant with Gary. India?’ Treasure knelt down beside me.

  ‘She’s been acting all worried for weeks. She hasn’t been eating properly either. I think she is pregnant.’

  ‘But why are you getting so het up about it?’

  ‘I think it’s my dad’s baby!’

  Treasure blinked at me. ‘Oh! I see.’

  ‘It’s awful. He doesn’t even like her much. He wants to get rid of her. But maybe now she’s having his baby he’ll change his mind? Maybe he’ll go off with Wanda?’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll leave all this,’ said Treasure, looking around to indicate our house. ‘Not unless Wanda is really, really gorgeous.’

  ‘She isn’t,’ I said sadly. I thought about my dad, my mum, Treasure’s mum, Terry . . .

  ‘I hate grown ups,’ I said bitterly. ‘You can’t trust any of them.’

  ‘They’re not all like that,’ said Treasure. ‘You can trust my nan.’

  She wheezed again.

  ‘Breathe, Treasure. Don’t tighten up,’ I said quickly. ‘Look, I’ll phone her. How about that?’

  ‘Can’t I phone her?’ Treasure said eagerly.

  ‘Well, I could try and sneak you Mum or Dad’s mobile. I’ll do my best when I get back from school, OK?’

  ‘Don’t go,’ Treasure said, gripping my arm. ‘Stay here with me, India, please.’

  ‘I’d give anything to stay, you know I would, but I can’t. Wanda drives me to school. I’ll have to whizz off in a minute. Well, kind of now.’ I tried very gently to unhook Treasure’s hands.

  ‘It’s so lonely up here,’ she said. ‘Can’t I come out during the day?’

  ‘It’s a bit risky, Treasure.’

  ‘But your mum and dad will be out at work.’

  ‘Wanda will be here though. She does go out sometimes, shopping, or to a yoga class, but you’ll never be able to guess when she’ll be back. No, stay up here. I wish I could. You’ve got all the books and my drawing stuff – and you’ve got your lunch all waiting.’

  I’d tried really hard with Treasure’s lunch, making her cheese salad sandwiches and tuna and sweetcorn rolls with carrot sticks and tomatoes and a cherry yoghurt and a flapjack and an apple and a bottle of orange juice. I heard Mum’s high-heeled boots tapping down the stairs so I shoved the lot into my schoolbag in the nick of time. Mum looked at me suspiciously, asking why I’d gone pink. She tutted when she saw the bag of brown rolls was open.

  ‘Have you been at those baps, India? How many have you eaten? You know you’re only supposed to have muesli and fruit for breakfast. It’s for your own good.’ She went on at me, nag, nag, niggle, niggle, while she brewed her black coffee and nibbled a single slice of melon.

  I was happy to let her think I was this great greedy pig but I wished Treasure might act a little pleased. She hadn’t eaten her breakfast either, not one bite, though I’d tried hard to vary it, toast and honey, melon cocktail, a banana and a carton of milk.

  ‘Eat your breakfast, Treasure,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to go now. I’ll try hard to see your nan after school, I promise, and I’ll come rushing back home as quick as quick after that. The day will just flash by, you’ll see.’

  Treasure nodded,
but she was nibbling her lip anxiously. I gave her a quick hug. I didn’t like leaving her, but what else could I do?

  It was so strange to run downstairs and start off for school as if nothing had happened. I felt awkward with Wanda. I kept giving her tummy little glances as she drove me to school, imagining a tiny tadpole baby swimming about inside her. I wanted to know if it was really true but I went hot at the thought of asking her.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said Wanda, as she drew up outside school.

  ‘Yes, well, I’ve got things on my mind,’ I said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Wanda significantly. ‘Anyway, I’ll pick you up usual time this afternoon. Don’t worry, I won’t be late.’

  ‘No! We’ve got our arrangement, don’t you remember? I’m coming home by myself.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind, India. It’s not safe. That kid’s still missing from the Latimer Estate. They think some man’s abducted her.’

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ I said. ‘I bet she’s just run away.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Wanda. ‘I’m still coming to pick you up.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ I said. ‘I’m going to my friend Tiffany’s house. And then her mum will drive me home. It’s all arranged.’

  ‘Does your mother know?’

  ‘No. I don’t want to tell her. You know what she’s like.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Wanda. ‘But I still think—’

  ‘Wanda, I’ve got to go, I’m late.’

  I was out of the car and running into school before she could continue.

  It was a trying day at school. Maria and Alice had some new joke together, nudging each other and giggling whenever they looked in my direction. I kept dropping the wretched ball in PE. The whole class groaned and went, ‘Surprise, surprise’ when I came top in the Maths test. It was pizza for lunch but my slice was very small and burnt underneath.

  I didn’t really care about any of this. School suddenly seemed such a stupid trivial place. I hurtled across the playground the second the bell went for home-time just in case Wanda was thinking of collecting me after all. I was way down the road while the others had scarcely started straggling across the playground.