‘Go!’ I shout at her, but she pulls on the handbrake and just looks at me. ‘Come ON!’ I yell. ‘We’ve got to hurry!’
‘What’s going on, Izzy?’ Mum asks, leaning across and holding on to my arm. ‘Are you OK? What’s happening?’
I look at her and my heart stops its mad somersaults and thuds heavily into my stomach. With all of the stress that we won’t make it to Alex on time, I had somehow forgotten two very important facts. Mum doesn’t know that Alex is running away. And Mum doesn’t know that Alex is pregnant.
I look at the car clock – 3.27 p.m. There’s no time.
‘Mum, I promise I’ll tell you, but you need to start driving. We’ve got to get to the train station,’ I say, begging her with my eyes to listen to me.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she turns off the ignition and looks at me hard.
‘I want to know NOW, Izzy,’ she says. ‘You rang school, scared poor Margaret half to death with your frantic phone call and made me leave the classroom before the end of school. Now I need to know what’s going on, please.’
I take a deep breath and grab hold of Mum’s hand.
‘If we sit here any longer then it’ll be too late. Please, Mum – just trust me this one time!’
Mum strokes my hand and looks at me thoughtfully.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asks. I shake my head, trying to stop myself from screaming at her. ‘Are you in trouble?’ I shake my head again: 3.28 p.m.
I have no idea what Mum is going to do and I can feel Alex drifting further and further away. I flop back against the car seat and imagine the train pulling out of the station, taking Alex away forever. I close my eyes in an attempt to blot out the image, but open them quickly when I feel the car rumble to life beneath me.
‘The train station?’ asks Mum, checking her mirrors and pulling out into the traffic.
‘Yes!’ I say, sitting up straight. ‘If we really hurry, we might get to her in time.’
‘Get to who?’ asks Mum, turning on to the main road and starting to pick up speed.
‘Alex,’ I tell her, hoping that the rest of her questions can wait until we get there.
Mum turns to me in surprise. ‘Why is Alex at the station?’ she asks. I’m quiet and she reaches over for my hand again, giving it a squeeze. ‘Izzy, I’m prepared to trust you, but I need to know what’s happening here.’
A car brakes suddenly in front of us as a cat dashes across the road.
‘Mum!’ I shout and she looks back at the road just in time, slamming on the brakes and making the car behind us honk its horn. Mum pushes her hair off her face and breathes out a huge sigh.
‘Why is Alex at the train station, Izzy?’
I realize that if we’re to have the tiniest chance of getting there in time then Mum is going to need to know.
‘She’s running away with Charlie,’ I say quietly, trying not to spook Mum and cause a multiple pile-up.
‘What!’ says Mum. She doesn’t scream it like I thought she would. It sounds more like a long groan, the way the word comes out of her mouth. ‘For goodness’ sake, Izzy! Why didn’t you tell me?’ Her voice is getting louder with each word. ‘Silly, silly girl.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ I say, trying not to cry.
‘Oh, not you!’ she says, indicating left and pulling off the main road on to a quieter street. ‘Alex! She’s behaving ridiculously. Where on earth do they think they’re going to go?’
I’m quiet now, not wanting to be the one to tell Mum about Alex’s plans to go to Switzerland. Maybe we’ll get there in time and Mum will never need to find out.
She puts her foot down and we weave round a cyclist. We drive in silence for a while and then Mum starts speaking.
‘I told her that they’re just exams – that I’ll be proud of her whatever her results,’ she says, but I think she’s talking to herself so I don’t say anything. We’re past the worst of the town traffic now, but it’s cost us ten whole minutes. I lean over to watch the speedometer creeping up, up, up. We’re driving fast now and I think we’ve got a chance.
‘And everyone gets nervous about university,’ Mum continues, shooting through the traffic lights as they turn amber. ‘She’s lucky to have the opportunities she’s got. I’d have loved the chance to do the things she’s going to be doing at her age.’
I stay silent and mentally will the clock to slow down. Surely we’ll make it? This happens all the time in films. Just when you think the hero can’t possibly get to the heroine in time to rescue her, he leaps in and saves the day. I imagine me and Mum sprinting down the platform, spotting Alex in the distance. I’ll call her name and she’ll turn and see us, and in that instant she’ll see how daft she’s been. She’ll drop her bags and run towards us, and Mum will hold her in a big hug, and then Alex will scoop me up and we’ll all be hugging and laughing and crying, and the train will leave and we’ll bring Alex home where she belongs.
The car suddenly swerves round a corner and I fall against the door, banging my shoulder. Pain shoots down my arm, but I don’t care because we’re here. We’ve made it! Mum doesn’t even bother to find a parking space; she just screeches to a halt in front of the main entrance and together we leap out of the car and race towards the station.
As we fly out on to platform 1, I see the station clock overhead: 3.44 p.m. One minute to find Alex and make this better. It’s totally possible. Then I see that platform 1 is empty. Mum has already started running towards the steps that go over the train tracks and down to platform 2. Platform 2, where a train is waiting.
I race after Mum and start up the steps. A train announcement is blaring all around me, but I can’t make any sense of what it’s actually announcing. I just know that I need to run faster than I’ve ever run before. As we reach the end of the bridge, I overtake Mum and hurl myself down the steps and on to the platform. Pushing through all the people who are trying to leave the station, I search desperately for Alex. There’s a flash of violet in the crowd up ahead and it looks to me like Alex’s favourite coat so I head towards it, not caring about how many people I shove and elbow to get past.
Then I’ve suddenly broken through the crowd and the platform ahead is empty. I start to run, casting my eyes to the right and looking into the carriages to check that she isn’t there. Then a whistle blows and the doors shut and Mum is behind me and we’re too late. I turn to Mum in disbelief. How can we have come so far only to fail at the last minute? Mum isn’t looking at me though. She’s gazing over my shoulder towards the train and as I turn I know what I’m going to see.
There is Alex, pressed up against the window of the train. Her face looks surprised or shocked or unhappy – I can’t work out which one – but it’s pretty obvious that she wasn’t expecting to see us standing here. I take a few steps forward until I’m standing right in front of her, close enough to see the tears that are streaming down her face.
‘Alex!’ shouts Mum from just behind me. ‘Get off the train!’ But Alex can’t hear her and she can’t get off anyway; the doors are closed and they won’t open until they get to the next station.
Alex looks at me and puts her hand against the window, her fingers spread apart. I copy her and match my smaller hand against hers and for one moment we’re together, separated only by a piece of dirty glass. I know that I’m crying and I can hear Mum calling to Alex, loud cries that carry her worry and fear all the way up the platform, but I ignore everything, looking only at my sister. She mouths something to me through the window and it looks like ‘Love you. Forever’.
‘I love you too,’ I tell her. And then the train is moving and I’m walking alongside, trying to keep my hand on Alex’s. I feel it pick up speed and I start to run, desperate to keep her, and then Mum is pulling me away to safety and holding on to me, and I watch as the train moves away, keeping my eyes focused on a tiny flash of violet until I can’t see it any more.
Even then we stand on the platform and wait until the train has disappeared from sight
. Then Mum turns me round and looks me in the eye.
‘Izzy?’ she says. It’s all she needs to say. She knows there’s more to this than she’s been told and she knows that I know. She wants answers. ‘IZZY!’ She raises her voice and gives my shoulders a little shake. And I have no idea where to begin. I’m completely exhausted and I don’t want to have to be the one to shatter Mum’s dreams. It’s too much to ask of me.
Mum seems to realize that I’m incapable of speech at the moment and she suddenly takes off, racing back down the platform and over the bridge to the ticket office. I follow her and catch up just as she gets to the desk.
‘Where was that train going?’ she demands, startling the sleepy ticket man inside the office.
‘Which train?’ he asks her, looking up from his newspaper.
‘The one that left platform two about a minute ago!’ says Mum, the annoyance in her voice obvious.
I could tell her myself. I know exactly where that train is going. But Mum looks so angry and upset that she doesn’t seem like my normal mum right now. I’m a bit scared by Furious Mum and I don’t want to be the one who breaks the bad news to her.
‘Well now, let me see.’ He gets up and slowly walks over to the desk. ‘Platform two, you say? Leaving at three forty-five p.m?’
‘Yes,’ says Mum and it sounds like her teeth are clamped tightly together. ‘I can’t believe it’s nearly four o’clock already,’ says the ticket man, looking up at the clock and then back at us. ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet today – the time has flown by! It’s been so busy. I had a gentleman in earlier who wanted to buy a ticket to Edinburgh, but going via Norwich of all places!’ He raises his eyebrows at us in amazement, as if this is the daftest thing he’s ever heard. Maybe it is, if you spend all day stuck inside a ticket office. I can feel Mum tense beside me; it’s a good job there’s a thick glass screen between him and us because otherwise I think she might reach through and give him a good shaking.
‘The train?’ she asks him.
‘Oh yes – well, that train is headed to London, madam,’ he tells her. ‘Do you want to know all the stations it stops at?’
‘No,’ says Mum abruptly. ‘Just tell me the departure time for the next train to London.’
The man looks at the clock again and then back at Mum sadly.
‘That’s the last one for today, I’m afraid. Got here a bit late, did you? Just like my wife. She can never get anywhere on time either. I have to tell her we’re leaving the house at least ten minutes before we actually need to go – only way to get her to leave punctually. And I do think that punctuality is a good characteristic.’ He chuckles to himself and Mum explodes.
‘That is completely insane! It’s not even four p.m! How can that possibly be the last train to London TODAY?’
She’s shouting now, not caring who hears her, and I see the ticket man look sympathetically at me. He probably thinks I come from a broken home and I wonder for a second if he’s right: if Alex running away makes us a dysfunctional family.
‘I’m very sorry, madam, but there’s some works being done on the line so we’re running a limited service for the next few days. The next train to London leaves tomorrow at six forty-five a.m. Would you like me to book you a ticket?’
Mum looks at him blankly and I can tell that she suddenly doesn’t know what to do. She shakes her head and then takes my hand and together we walk out of the ticket office.
We walk back to the car and I give Mum the letter that Alex left for me. Alex can tell Mum herself, even if she didn’t intend to. I sit in the passenger seat and lean my head back on the headrest. I close my eyes and try not to listen as Mum reads the letter and sobs. Then she gets her mobile phone out of her bag and dials Alex’s number. Alex doesn’t answer on the first call, or the second call or the eighth call. After the eleventh call, Mum leaves a voicemail message, asking Alex to get off the train at the next station and to ring Mum straight away. And she tells Alex’s voicemail that she just wants to help and that she loves Alex very, very much.
And, after that, we sit for a really long time, waiting for Alex to ring back. Mum checks the time every thirty seconds and, after an hour, when the ticket man has knocked on the window and told Mum that she can’t park here, she wipes her eyes and we drive home very, very slowly. Mum stops the car on the drive and we sit in the car for a bit longer, not saying anything, but neither of us wanting to go into the empty house.
Eventually I start to feel cold so I open my car door and get out. Mum copies me, almost like she’s glad that someone has suggested what she should do next. So I open the front door and put the kettle on, and Mum sits at the table in the kitchen while I make a cup of tea. I melt some cheese on toast and put it on a plate in front of her, and then we both sit, looking at the jar of peanut butter, letting our toast go cold.
After about ten minutes of sitting in silence, Mum suddenly leaps to her feet.
‘What time did Alex say they were catching the ferry?’ she asks me, her voice sounding frantic and something else, but I’m not sure what.
‘I can’t remember,’ I tell her. ‘I know Alex was excited about sailing in the dark so it must be quite late.’
Mum plunges her hand into her pocket and brings out Alex’s letter. When we were in the car, she spent ages folding it up really carefully, a bit like someone arranging a posh napkin for a wedding, although not in the shape of a swan. Now she unfolds it just as carefully and skim-reads through the letter until she finds what she’s looking for.
‘She doesn’t say a time!’ she says and I realize that the other sound in her voice is hope. ‘Quick, there’s a chance we can get to her before she leaves the country.’
Mum races out of the room and for the second time today I sprint after her. She rushes into the study and turns on the computer, bouncing from foot to foot and frowning as it takes ages to load.
‘Come on, come on,’ she mutters and then launches forward the second the screen is on. ‘Izzy, run and pack a bag and get ready to leave.’
‘Why?’ I ask her, a bit stupidly. I’m finding it hard to keep up with her and I’m tired. Today has been too much.
‘We’re going after Alex!’ Mum says, wriggling the computer mouse and clicking furiously.
‘What should I pack?’ I say.
‘Oh, I don’t know! Anything! We’ll need something to eat too. Grab some fruit and cereal bars.’
I walk into the kitchen slowly. I know I should be rushing, that every minute we delay is another minute where Alex has got further away from us, but I can’t help thinking that this isn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to say goodbye to Mum because she didn’t want to give Mum the chance of doing this. Making a fuss and a drama. Alex only likes drama if she’s the one creating it.
Just as I’ve emptied out my school bag on to the table and repacked it with a couple of apples and some crisps, there’s a thud from the study and a few seconds later Mum comes hurtling through the door.
‘Right, I’ve looked at the route to Dover and I think we’ve got a chance of making it on time. You’ll have to read the map – can you do that, Izzy?’
She looks at me doubtfully and I nod my head, even though I’m terrible with directions. Last year I even got lost on our school orienteering course and they had to send a search party out to find me. It’s not just basketball I’m rubbish at.
‘I KNEW I should have bought that satnav when it was on offer,’ moans Mum. ‘Well, never mind – we’ll just have to do the best we can. OK, are you ready? Do you need to use the bathroom because I don’t want us to have to stop?’
I shake my head. I don’t know what to make of this new Manic Mum. She’s freaking me out a tiny bit. She picks my bag up off the table and starts walking towards the door. I go after her, starting to feel a tiny prickle of excitement in my stomach. Maybe we can still make this better. If we can just get to Alex before she boards the ferry, it’ll all be OK.
Mum opens the front door and I step ou
tside. She’s just pulling it closed when the phone in the hall starts ringing. Mum stops, hesitating.
‘Leave it, Mum!’ I cry. ‘We’ve got to go!’
‘I can’t,’ Mum tells me, pushing the door open again and stepping back into the hall. ‘It might be Alex!’
She rushes over to the phone and picks it up.
‘Hello?’ she says. ‘Oh, Mum – I thought you were Alex.’
It’s not Alex at all, only Granny. I pick up the bag that Mum has dropped and walk over to the car. Mum will tell Granny that she can’t chat now and it’ll be best if I’m waiting in the car, all ready to leave the instant she comes outside. The car is unlocked so I stash my bag on the back seat and sit down in the front.
Mum takes ages. I’ve had a chance to look at our road atlas and work out which direction we need to go in to get to Dover. I’ve opened the glove compartment to check if there are any sweets hidden in there, but I think we must have eaten them all up because the only thing I can find is a disgusting Fisherman’s Friend. Those sweets are nasty. The first (and last) time I had one I thought it must be some kind of trick sweet: they taste disgusting and totally burn your mouth. Grandpa loves them though; this one must have been left over from the last time Mum took him out in our car.
Finally Mum comes outside. She closes the front door after her and gets into the driver’s seat. Then she rests her head on the steering wheel and makes strange shuddering sounds.
‘Mum!’ I cry, reaching across and patting her on the shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’ Manic Mum was weird, but Sad Mum is truly awful.
She cries for a bit and I try to hold on to her, feeling awkward. I love my Mum, but I’m not used to being the person who tries to make her feel better; she usually does that for me. After a little while, she lifts her head and wipes her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Izzy. This is so difficult for you.’
‘No!’ I tell her, desperate to make her happy. ‘It’s not difficult. It’s fine!’
‘No, it isn’t fine,’ she says. ‘That was Granny on the phone. Grandpa has gone missing again. He’s been gone for ages. Granny thought he was pottering about in the garden shed, but when she went to tell him it was teatime he wasn’t there. There’s no telling how long he’s been gone. He could be anywhere. She’s already phoned the police.’
Violet Ink Page 13
