by Sanjida Kay
AUTUMN
The hot chocolate had tiny marshmallows floating in it. Autumn could feel it sliding smooth and sweet down her throat, the froth bursting like milky bath foam against her lips. Granny had bought it for her as well as a biscuit topped with a scary pumpkin in frightening orange. She couldn’t quite believe her luck. Granny, of course, was sipping a pale-pink herbal tea and had frowned when she saw the array of cakes encrusted with witches and ghosts in icing as thick as gouache.
She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of the chocolate. She would remember this moment, this day. Granny had taken her to John Lewis and whisked her around the girls’ department, seizing clothes and ordering two assistants about. Now they were in the café with a bulging bag of new outfits tucked under the table. And there was more to come! This afternoon she was going to Tilly’s house!
On Friday, when Rebecca had come to pick her up, Tilly had casually swung her glacially blonde hair over one shoulder and said, ‘See you on Saturday. Mum says we’re going to make cupcakes for you.’ The thought that right now, as she sat in John Lewis, Tilly was whipping butter and icing sugar together – for her! – was almost more than she could bear. She imagined Tilly tucking her hair behind her ears, piping the buttercream in fat swirls over the cupcakes, her lips in the little kiss shape she made when she was concentrating, a haze of sweet dust powdering her forearms. Imagining Tilly making cupcakes was exactly what she needed to do to stop thinking about Levi and her mum shoving him and what was going to happen to Mum now.
She opened her eyes. ‘Granny?’
‘Yes, darling.’
‘We have to do a project for Humanities. You have to ask your grandparents some questions.’
‘What kind of questions?’ Vanessa sipped her tea and then carefully set the thick mug on the table, as if disappointed that she was not drinking out of a cup and saucer with a teapot and extra hot water standing by.
Autumn knew that it wasn’t the right time to ask these questions. She was going to ruin her day. She also realized that there never would be a good time. Granny was going to leave soon. She was flying to Africa. Autumn took the notebook and pen that her granny had bought her that morning out of the plastic bag and ran her fingertips over the cover. It showed a princess with long hair that floated in and out of vines and through a jungle of trees sprouting fuschia-pink flowers.
‘You know. For History.’
‘History? Do you mean because you think I’m old?’
Vanessa’s brow wrinkled. She was wearing an odd brooch: a sheet of silver rolled into a scroll, which was thin and sharp at the ends. The princess on Autumn’s new notebook might use it as a weapon.
Autumn smoothed down the first page in her pad. ‘Where did you grow up?’
‘Well, I’m half French – my mother was from Versailles – and so although we lived in London, every summer I’d travel to Paris for a few days with her and visit the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, and then we’d spend the rest of the time at my granmère and grandpère’s farm in the countryside. Picking cherries for tarts and pressing wild flowers. Swimming in the river and helping to bring in the hay—’
Autumn interrupted. ‘And what did you used to do?’
‘What did I used to do?’
‘When you were working?’
‘I’m still working,’ said Vanessa indignantly. She sighed as she retrieved the tea bag, looking annoyed because she hadn’t been given anything to discard it in; she plopped it on a pile of napkins that slowly grew sodden and turned a dull mauve. ‘I’m a social anthropologist. I study animals and people in Namibia.’
As Vanessa described the Himba ladies with red mud in their hair and the baboons, the males with canines as big as a lion’s, and the babies, who rode like jockeys on their backs, clinging on with tiny pink fingers, Autumn bent her head lower and lower over her new notebook. She could already feel the dryness in her throat, the catch in her voice, when she’d have to stand up in class and tell everyone what her grandparents did. After the other kids read out their work on grannies who baked them squidgy chocolate chip cookies and grandads who took them to Disney matinées and bought them too much popcorn and Coke in those giant buckets, she could imagine how the others would look at her when she talked about Grandmother Vanessa who strode through the desert with her binoculars, counting kudu.
She turned over the page and wrote: My Granny makes me hot chocolate from real chocolate. She melts it first and mixes it with hot milk. She learnt how to do it when she lived in France when she was a little girl and drank hot chocolate and ate croissants for breakfast every day.
‘Look, Mum! Look what Granny bought me!’ Autumn rushed downstairs to the kitchen with her bags and tipped her new clothes and colouring pencils out onto the table.
Her mum was heating soup for lunch, still wearing her muddy work clothes.
‘What a gorgeous colour,’ she said as Autumn held up her red coat, but her face had a funny expression.
Was it because she hadn’t bought any clothes for her, apart from her school uniform, which, technically, her dad had paid for? Autumn faltered; she hadn’t meant to make her mum feel bad.
‘Can I put this skirt on now to go to Tilly’s house?’
‘That’s so pretty. Yes, of course, but come and have some lunch first.’
‘I hate soup,’ said Autumn, snatching up her purchases. ‘You know I hate it,’ she shouted as she left the kitchen. Sometimes it was hard feeling sorry for other people.
‘I’m afraid I gave her rather too large a snack before we left John Lewis,’ Autumn heard her granny saying as she dashed up the stairs.
She was too excited to eat any lunch, although Granny, who was much stricter than her mum, insisted she sit at the table and Have half a piece of toast, at least.
It seemed to take ages for her mum to have a shower and get changed and then, as they were finally in the car and driving, she suddenly pulled over.
‘Wait! This isn’t Tilly’s house.’
‘I thought I should get something to take. Rebecca said not to, but we can’t turn up empty-handed. You can stay in the car if you like.’
Autumn shook her head and followed her mum into the corner shop. Why couldn’t she be like other mums, she thought, hopping from one foot to the other as her mum looked at the baked goods, stacked on wooden shelves, all wrapped in plastic packaging. Other mums made things to bring to their friends’ houses, or else they bought cakes from nice delis or Waitrose. They didn’t forget about it until the last minute and then buy some rubbish from Best One. She filled her cheeks with air and blew out. Chloe’s mum wouldn’t have minded, but somehow Autumn suspected that Rebecca would.
Her mum hovered for ages and then chose a Bakewell tart covered in thick fondant icing and plopped it on Autumn’s knee when they got back in the car. She looked down at the cake, the icing already sticking to the wrapping.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes?’ Her mum didn’t take her eyes off the road.
‘Have you told Granny?’
Her mum seemed to go still even though she was driving.
‘Not yet.’
She didn’t say anything else. They reached the edge of Clifton.
‘You haven’t told her, have you?’ Her mum glanced at her in the mirror.
Autumn didn’t know if her Mum really meant, Don’t tell Granny. She wasn’t sure what the right answer was. She hadn’t told her, but she wanted to ask Granny what would happen now. Would the police come and take her mum away? Her mum had done something wrong. Really wrong. But maybe Granny would be cross with her. And with Autumn for putting her mum into such a tricky situation. She looked out of the window as the car slowed down and turned into a wide, curved street.
Her mum sighed. ‘I will tell her. Later,’ she said. ‘Please don’t worry about it, Autumn. The main thing is that Levi won’t bully you again.’
‘We’re here!’ shouted Autumn, spotting the house number. She’d memorized Tilly’s address. She jumped out of the car and ran up the short garden path, but then, at the front door, she handed her mum the Bakewell tart and slipped behind her.
Rebecca answered the door. She was wearing white wide-legged trousers, silver shoes like a ballet dancer’s and a soft grey tunic. Autumn couldn’t help noticing that although her Mum had changed out of her army trousers, she was wearing old jeans and a baggy top. She didn’t look as – pretty wasn’t the right word because Rebecca wasn’t really pretty – as elegant as Tilly’s mum.
‘Come in, come in,’ Rebecca called, kissing both of them and ushering them down a hall with lots of tiny framed pictures of elephants and ladies in saris and across a giant rug of a splotchy Union Jack.
The kitchen was ginormous. Autumn walked over to the windows. There was a dizzying drop down to the river. On the opposite wall was a huge picture of nothing but massive polka dots.
‘I know you said not to bring anything…’ her mum was saying, holding out the Bakewell tart.
‘Oh thank you, darling. Just put it over there,’ said Rebecca, pointing to a kind of bar next to a big fridge and a large silver bin.
The table was already laid for afternoon tea with rose-print crockery and a proper cake stand piled high with cupcakes decorated with fat swirls of vanilla buttercream and rice paper flowers.
‘The girls helped me make them,’ said Rebecca, seeing Autumn looking at the tower of cakes. Rebecca then went back into the hall and shouted up the stairs, ‘Girls? Tilly, Poppy!’
Her mum helped her take her coat off and told her to take her shoes off too. It was only when her mum had gone to put them in the hall that Autumn remembered she had a hole in her tights. You could see her big toe poking out. She tried to pull her tights down, past her foot, but it didn’t really work: they slid up and you could see her toe again.
The two girls appeared silently, both flicking their long, blonde hair over their shoulders, and said mechanically, ‘Hello, Laura, hello, Autumn,’ before slipping onto a caramel-coloured bench running down one side of the table.
Autumn hesitated and stood on one foot, tucking the one with the hole in behind her calf.
Rebecca noticed. ‘You go next to the girls, and we’ll sit this side,’ she said, gently steering Autumn towards them. ‘David’s working today,’ she added. ‘Filming a shoot at Codsteaks, you know, the studio near the train station?’
Her mum shook her head.
‘They make things for movies, like the pirate ship in the last Aardman film,’ said Poppy.
Poppy was eleven, although she seemed a lot older.
Her mum looked over at her as if she was expecting her to say something and when she didn’t, she said to Poppy, ‘Autumn’s dad is at the foot of the Himalayas. He’s setting off into the mountains tomorrow for his film trip.’
‘Really?’ said Poppy. ‘Like, Everest?’
‘Well, near, but not that high,’ said her mum, sounding as if she didn’t really know. ‘He’s filming a Buddhist tribe and they probably won’t live at that elevation. Autumn’s going to chat to him on Skype today before he sets off.’
Autumn took a tiny bite of the cupcake. The icing was so sweet and soft, almost melting in her mouth. The three of them ate silently and drank their pink lemonade as their mothers talked. Autumn observed Tilly through a gap in her hair. She wondered if Tilly really did want her there. Perhaps she was wishing Rebecca hadn’t invited them.
‘Your cupcakes are delicious,’ she said.
Tilly smiled.
As soon as they had finished eating and had wiped their hands and mouths on the rose-patterned paper napkins, Rebecca told the girls to show Autumn their bedrooms and to be nice. The two sisters ran off at once and Autumn followed more slowly, feeling her mother’s gaze like a weight on her back. When she reached the corner of the stairs, she ran too, catching up with Tilly and Poppy.
‘She’s my friend,’ announced Tilly, ‘so we need to go in my bedroom.’
Autumn felt relieved. So Tilly did want her there. They climbed another set of stairs.
‘My room is that one,’ said Poppy airily, indicating one of the white doors.
Tilly’s had her name spelt out in letters covered in flowery fabric. Her room was large, with a thick, cream carpet. Her bed was really high and underneath it she had a little desk. The walls were painted a dusky pink and there were proper paintings hanging on them, signed by the artist. All her toys and books were stacked in white cube shelves – so many of them! – but, best of all, she had a giant dolls’ house, almost as tall as her, painted pink to match the bedroom walls, with a car parked in front and a set of swings and a slide.
Autumn thought of her own bedroom. It was cold. Air seeped through the cracks in the floorboards. You could hear the wind rattling the panes of glass in their frames. They didn’t have triple-glazing like in their old house in London, which, technically, was a new house. You could hear the heating chugging on and sluggishly turning off. Her mum had said they could decorate her room, but there hadn’t been time yet. She’d wanted blue paint, so it would feel as if she was surrounded by a cloudless sky, but now she wasn’t sure. Her mum didn’t know how to hang up pictures but she said she’d figure it out. In the meantime, she’d bought a poster of an Olympic gymnast. Autumn hated it. The girl was poised and beautiful; she was wearing a sparkly leotard. Autumn knew she’d never be like that.
There was even a wooden Wendy house in her bedroom that was supposed to go in the garden, and boxes of her things were still stacked in one corner of her room. Her mum kept saying she’d help her unpack them but she didn’t want to. Then it would feel like she’d really moved in, like they were definitely here to stay. But the Wendy house made her feel safe: a house within a house.
‘Wow,’ breathed Autumn, and Tilly smiled again.
‘Look,’ she said, and took her hand and led her over to the dolls’ house. ‘It’s even got stables and horses. Shall we get the girls ready to go riding?’ She opened the front of the dolls’ house and brought out two Barbies. ‘We need to put their jodhpurs on first.’ She passed one of the dolls to Autumn and said, ‘Why doesn’t your dad live with you?’
Autumn froze, clutching the Barbie to her chest.
Poppy rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘It’s so common, Tilly. Lots of mums and dads get divorced. Mum says it happens all the time if you work in the media.’
Tilly nodded her head sagely and handed Autumn a horse-riding outfit. ‘In our class Jason and Olive and Kate’s mum and dad don’t live with each other.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t think they work in the media though.’
Autumn let out her breath and started to ease one plastic leg into the beige tube of the jodhpurs.
Poppy said she was too old to play with the dolls and started fiddling around with Tilly’s iPod and speakers. Autumn saw them both notice the hole in her tights and glance at each other but Tilly didn’t say anything mean. Poppy fetched lip gloss, a brush and a hair band. She carefully painted the gloss on Autumn’s lips. It smelt of strawberries and was gooey. She took Autumn’s bobbles out and undid her plaits, then brushed her hair and put the hair band in place.
‘There,’ she said, as if Autumn was one of them.
Perhaps Tilly would be her friend at school now, thought Autumn, looking at her reflection in the mirror, the two blonde sisters peeping over her shoulder.
‘It’s so pretty,’ she said. The hair band was white with a red rose.
‘It suits you,’ said Poppy.
‘You should keep it,’ said Tilly. ‘I’ve got lots of them.’
Autumn touched the flower. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
She looked from Poppy to Tilly. They were both smiling at her. Perhaps it was going to be okay living here after all. She s
miled back at them.
LAURA
As soon as they reached Wolferton Place, Laura rushed inside and checked the answerphone. There were no messages. Vanessa was in the kitchen. She wondered if she could tell whether any irate parents had visited while her mother had been here on her own this afternoon simply by the way she was chopping vegetables. She went downstairs and Autumn followed.
‘Hello, darling,’ Vanessa said, smiling at her, and then, looking over at Autumn, she asked, ‘Did you have a nice time with Tilly?’
Autumn nodded. ‘She’s got the biggest dolls’ house you’ve ever seen. With thoroughbred horses and stables. And all of Beyoncé’s songs on her iPod.’
Surely Vanessa wouldn’t look this casual and relaxed if Levi’s parents had come round? Laura thought. She opened her laptop and switched it on. It booted up swiftly and she started to do an Internet search for schools in the area. When they’d moved here, Autumn’s school had been the only one in their catchment with a spare place, but there was a slight chance that the situation could have changed – someone might have moved or even been expelled since September. But as she suspected, there were still no vacancies. She was about to close Google when an email pinged into her inbox. It was from Aaron. Vanessa was absorbed in cooking dinner and Autumn was sitting opposite her at the kitchen table, drawing and talking excitedly about Tilly, so she rose quietly and went upstairs to her office.
Hi Laura
Is your laptop and the Internet working properly? I’m on call over the weekend if you need me but I trust the problem is sorted now.
I had a fine view of Jupiter last night before the sky clouded over and the rain kicked in.
Best,
Aaron
She quickly pressed Reply and started typing.
Dear Aaron,
Thank you so much for fixing my laptop, it’s working!
Glad you could see Jupiter! I wouldn’t know how to tell any of the stars – or planets for that matter – apart.
