by Emily Barr
I don’t jump and sing. I just tell him that he is allowed to say it. I don’t say that Mum wouldn’t be – that’s not fair but it’s true.
I walk over to the window to check out Rio. In fact it looks out over a courtyard with other people’s windows. There are lights on in two balconies that are crammed with flowerpots and bikes and clothes lines. Those are not hotel balconies; they are actual Brazilian people’s lives.
‘Fancy a shower before bed?’ Mum says. Her eyes are wild. She is hanging up clothes. She seems to have brought a couple of random outfits for each of us.
‘We’re not going to bed now,’ I say. I look at them and see that they both think we are. ‘Mum! Dad? Hello? You turn up at school and pull me out in front of everyone and I have no idea why, but I bet Dad’s not going to work tomorrow. You make me sit on a plane for hours without explaining anything that makes any sense at all – and now you’re telling me to have a shower and go to bed? We’re in Rio de Janeiro and I’m not going to bed. You saw it out there. It’s amazing. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but we’re here and I think you think something bad is about to happen but I have no idea what. So take me out for a drink. Please.’
My head is ringing a bit but I’m not having that, not here, not now. My eyes dart around the edges of things, making them clear. I feel Bella stumbling out of her cave and I tell her to go back. I might need her later. I don’t need her now.
She backs off. That’s unusual. It makes me happy.
I make my way back to my bed and sit on it. I take deep breaths. I wait, but Bella really isn’t there. Neither parent notices that I’m wobbly.
Mum sighs and puts both hands to her temples, which is just completely annoying.
Dad shakes his head. ‘We can go out tomorrow, darling. Not now. It’s two in the morning and we’re in a foreign city. You have to be careful in Rio. You can’t just wander around in the middle of the night. You’re young and you have no idea how sheltered you’ve been.’ Mum does a little huff when he says this, which is interesting. ‘We might as well write big signs saying Mug Me and hold them above our heads.’
‘People wouldn’t understand them because they’d be written in a foreign language,’ I say. My vision is perfectly clear, despite the fact that I’m annoyed. I shift backwards and lean against the wall. I am all Ella. ‘It’s midnight, not two, and I’m old enough for you to stop sheltering me – if that’s what you’ve been doing.’ I’m cross, but it’s a mild, ordinary sort of cross. I just want to go out in Rio, to the nearest bar. It’s nothing more than that. It feels normal and amazing. ‘Let’s ask at reception if it’s safe for us to go out,’ I say, using the most reasonable tone of voice I can produce. ‘Please. If there isn’t somewhere right on this block, then we can come back and go to bed. I don’t want alcohol or anything like that. I just want to sit out on one of those chairs on the pavement. Now that we’re here.’
They look at each other. They look at me, their daughter, smiling at them, happy to be here. They both start putting their shoes back on. I close my eyes, my head against the wall, and feel the gratitude flooding through me and try to get myself together.
The man on reception laughs and says that of course it’s absolutely fine to go out, and that there’s a bar almost next door, and even though I’m still wearing school uniform I can’t wait to go there.
It is right where he said it would be, and there’s live music blasting out, and all I want to do is go inside and let the music go right through me, and dance and dance and dance. A band is playing. People are standing up, listening to the music. Some of them are, in an unshowy way, dancing in the street. I want to stay and dance in the street too, but obviously Mum and Dad don’t, and anyway I don’t want to dance with them. I look closely at the people as we pass by. These people are Brazilians. I am in their country. I am a foreigner now.
I am foreign.
I am a stranger.
I am an outsider.
It is thrilling and scary. I roll up the sleeves of my school jumper. The white threads of the old scars don’t show at all under the streetlights.
When we get to the corner I see the name of our street on a sign.
‘Nossa Senhora de Copacabana?’ I read. ‘Copacabana? Is that where we are?’
‘Yes.’ Mum looks far less happy with this fact than she should. ‘Yes, darling. This is the area where lots of the hotels are.’
‘Copacabana?’
‘Yes.’
‘We are standing in Copacabana? Actual Copacabana in Rio? Where’s the beach? I want to paddle in the water right now! With the little mountains out to sea! I spent ages painting them.’
Dad sounds exhausted and I know that I’m pushing it.
‘In the morning, Ellie. Absolutely not now. That beach is seriously dangerous after dark. It’s a block or so away from here – I don’t know in which direction. We’ll find it in daylight.’
‘Is it really dangerous? Or is that just something people think?’
‘Really dangerous. I’m not comfortable as it is, leaving the hotel at night. We’re doing it for you, Ellie, when both your mother and I want to go to bed. And if we don’t see a decent-looking café in the next few minutes we’re going back.’
‘Come on.’ I tug Dad’s arm. ‘Look. There’s a place over here with tables out. One drink and we’ll go back to the hotel.’
I order a Coke. Dad has a beer, which he attempts to order by saying, ‘Una thairvaytha por favor,’ but the barman looks confused for quite a long time, so Dad points and says ‘Beer?’ and is immediately handed a bottle. Mum has a pale-green cocktail with mashed-up limes in it. It’s not a drink I’ve ever seen before at home. Sometimes Jack and I go to the pub and drink lager. Sometimes Lily and I drink sticky-sweet drinks like Southern Comfort. Occasionally I get to tag along with Lily, Mollie and the twins, and we have cocktails with silly names and I am always the first to leave. Of course, as far as my parents are concerned, I’ve never drunk anything stronger than the occasional glass of wine with dinner.
‘When in Rome,’ Mum says, and she starts to drink it through the straw. ‘Oh my God, I need this.’
I’ve seen her drinking wine. I’ve never seen her drunk. I will watch her in Rio with interest.
There are some other English people in the bar. They look like they’re straight off the plane too. They are drinking beer but eyeing Mum’s cocktail.
‘This doesn’t feel scary,’ I say. ‘You must admit – this is a lot less scary than Wetherspoon’s.’
Dad inclines his head in a way that means it might not feel scary but it doesn’t mean we’re safe. He tries to look at me as if he knows everything and I am a little girl who needs protecting; but it doesn’t work. He knows why we’re here, and yet he is terrified of the very air we’re breathing. And I’m not.
Dad drinks half his bottle of beer in a couple of gulps. I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath. I woke up this morning and had a shower and played with Humphrey and went to school feeling bored. Now I’m sitting at an outside table in Rio de Janeiro, watching my mum drink a cocktail very quickly through a straw and order another.
I have no idea what has happened.
4
34 Days
I need to wake up. It’s school. The light is coming in through the curtains and that means I’ve overslept. Even before I open my eyes I can tell it’s brighter than usual.
Something strange happened. I lie in my bed. I am in my own messy bedroom. Humphrey is curled up by my feet. There is homework on the desk, and I’ve had a weird and messed-up dream that ended with me crawling into bed in Rio in the same room as my parents, who were already comatose after chucking back three boozy drinks each like rugby lads on a stag.
I yawn and prepare to open my eyes.
I need to go to school.
But I can’t.
Because I am in Rio.
I
am
in
Rio.
It ha
ppened. This is Brazil. The room is light because the curtains weren’t closed properly, and my dad is sitting
up in bed reading a book, with the air of someone who wants a cup of tea and has had a look for the kettle and found it missing because we are Abroad in a Foreign Place. If he wanted tea in bed he shouldn’t have left the country.
Mum is asleep. Her hair is all over the pillow and her mouth is open and she was too tipsy to take off her make-up, so there is mascara all the way down one of her cheeks, and it’s probably on the pillowcase too – though she has always told me that if I must wear make-up (and I don’t need to because I am so pretty, and so on), then I should always take it off before bed because of pores and bed linen and things. She doesn’t often wear make-up herself, and she isn’t looking like such a classy lady now. If I had my phone I would pretend to Dad that I was going to take her photo (though I wouldn’t really be that mean; I would mime it to make him laugh), but of course I haven’t got it because they took it away from me and now it’s locked in that safe.
I have to get my phone. Yesterday was one thing, but actually living daily life with my parents and without a phone is something completely different. I don’t know what to do with myself, now that I can’t check what they’re saying about me on social media, or look at what’s happened in the world, or just put on my headphones and listen to music or an audiobook.
Everyone else listens to music. I do, but I listen to books more. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t want to be read a story all the time. I listen to the A-level texts over and over again and that’s how I know them so well. If I could I’d read a book with my eyes while listening to another with my ears.
Dad sees me looking at Mum. He gazes down at her sleeping off her cocktails, and smiles. I smile back, and haul myself out of bed and into the bathroom.
This is Copacabana. There is a beach nearby. No one robbed us when we went out, and no one looked as if they might be going to either, even though it was dark and we had no idea what we were doing or where we were going. My parents and I are going to be here for some unspecified length of time, for a reason they won’t tell me.
I’m going to make them tell me.
They have to tell me.
Even if it’s something awful I have to know, because I am starting to imagine things.
I brush my teeth and comb my hair with my fingers. I am far too pale to be here. I need to get a tan.
An hour later I trail into the dining room after my parents, trying to look independent and cool.
No one cares.
The room has a huge bank of buffet tables to one side, televisions on at either end, and tables with white tablecloths. The waiting staff are wearing black and white uniforms, but they don’t look stuffy. I watch Dad talking to the woman at the desk, and then follow him and Mum over to a table.
‘We just help ourselves, darling,’ says Mum.
The buffet is enormous, covering table after table. I stare at it.
‘I know!’ says Dad. ‘Right? As much as you like. Go for it.’
I pile a plate with scrambled eggs (or MIXED EGGS as the label calls them) and some balls coated in breadcrumbs that turn out to have lovely melted cheese in the middle, and a roll. I put that on the table and go back for a glass of fresh orange juice. A woman comes round with a flask of coffee and pours it for us, though Mum shakes her head and goes to find herself some kind of pathetic homeopathic-type tea from an otherwise-unvisited table round the side of a pillar. Dad, usually another fan of horrible weak tea, joins me in a coffee.
‘This is an awesome breakfast,’ I say, and it is. The cheese-ball things are wonderful, and for some reason I don’t want to eat meat at the moment. I love animals so I don’t really know why I’ve always eaten them. I don’t take any meat; I look at Dad’s bacon and things but I don’t steal any from his plate even though he’d let me.
Mum is just eating fruit (she claims only to like things that grow in the ground), and it looks so nice that when I’ve finished all my eggs and cheesy things I go back and get a second plate of breakfast from the grown-in-the-ground part of the table. I end up with a pile of mango, watermelon and pineapple slices, all juicy and all gorgeous. I could eat like this every day.
Perhaps we will eat like this every day now. Perhaps this is the rest of our lives.
‘So,’ I say to Mum and Dad as we finish our drinks. ‘What’s the plan? What time do you need to be at work, Dad? Did your suit get crumpled in the suitcase? It must have been in there if you’re going to work.’
I stare from one to the other. This would be a good time for them to admit they made that bit up, but of course they don’t.
‘Oh, Ella.’ Mum is using her put-upon voice, which I think is a bit rich, considering. ‘Ella. Just give us a bit of space to think, please, darling. Dad’s work isn’t today.’
‘Of course it’s not. How surprising. So what do you need to think about?’
Mum looks hurt by my tone. Hiding Bella from Mum has, I realize, been the single greatest achievement of my life. I would be horrified if she found out what I’m really like.
‘We just need to make a plan. I know we have to buy you some more clothes, and we will. Let me talk to the front desk about the best place to go for that.’
I sigh. ‘OK. Can I have the room key? I want to go and read my book. If I had a book, which I don’t. I’ll watch some Brazilian telly. Or am I not allowed to be away from your side in case someone kidnaps me?’
Mum looks at Dad, who laughs.
‘As adorable as you are, Ellie, I don’t think you’ll be kidnapped between here and the bedroom. Here you go.’
He extracts the room key from his wallet and hands it over, and I walk as quickly as I can out of the breakfast room to get away from them.
Something happened when I mentioned being kidnapped. It was only a fraction of a second, but Mum reacted in a weird way. Dad did too, though he covered it instantly – he’s more grounded than she is. I have no idea what the fuck that could mean. I am normal, and no one in their right mind would want to kidnap me. Who would want Ella Black? I come with baggage, and although my parents have enough money for this trip, apparently, they’re not exactly the global super-rich, so it can’t really be a ransom situation.
I am not normal, and that is all the more reason why no one should want to snatch me.
All I can think of is that I might be ill, but I don’t want to be ill. I want to leave school (which I appear to have done, for the moment) and have adventures. I want to make myself better in my head and do things in the world. I want to see things, experience them. I want to do good things. I want to do them for other people as well as for myself. That’s a new thought.
There is something in the safe that will help me work out what’s happening. I know there is.
I will try all possible codes until I open it. It’s sure to be my birthday. They always use my birthday. If it isn’t my birthday I’ll know there is something they really, really, really don’t want me to see, and I will find it.
And then I see him.
As I’m charging out, three people – two boys and a girl – are coming in through the door from the lobby. They are Latin-looking, chatting in what seems to be both Spanish and English. Then I see the boy at the back, and I stop.
It is like being electrocuted. I recognize something in his eyes. He’s a stranger; yet I know him. This boy is one of the main characters in my life. I know in an instant that the feelings I know from books and poems and songs are real. I know him; I just haven’t met him yet. He has dark brown hair and olivy skin, and he is tall and broad and muscular. I never knew it before, but this is what my ideal boy looks like. Jack flits through my head and I smile. Jack would like this boy too.
The boy stops and looks at me. He smiles. Our eyes meet. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.
He’s older than I am, but not much, and he’s wearing cut-off denim shorts and a plain green T-shirt. He smiles the most perfect smile.
He has even teeth, and his smile takes over his whole face. I am smiling too.
‘Hola,’ he says. He is staring at me in the same way I am staring at him. Am I imagining that? I don’t think I am. I hope I’m not. No one has ever looked at me like this.
‘Hola,’ I say. I don’t know what to do, and so I grin a bit more. He is looking into my eyes, and although I want to freeze this moment and save it forever, I have to be the first to look away. I need to get into the lift before my parents come along and ruin everything.
I break the eye contact and try not to fall over as I walk across the small lobby. I press the ‘up’ button and turn back. The boy is still looking. Our eyes meet again. I say everything I can through my eyes, and he says it back.
Then he gives a little nod and turns away, catching up with his friends.
If anyone else was here they would see a girl standing in a lift, smiling into the mirror. In fact I am being serenaded by cherubs with harps. I am being struck by that angel with the arrow. I am gasping for breath.
I have to talk to that boy. I don’t know what I’d say but I don’t care.
The lift chimes and I am on the eleventh floor. I open our room and sit down on the bed, and relive the almost-wordless encounter over and over again without stopping.
He is staying at the hotel. I have to speak to him. He is with two friends, a boy and a girl. I, however, am with my mummy and daddy. That might spoil everything.
I cannot let that happen.
All I want is that boy. I have no idea whether we will be able to speak to each other, but I’m sure one of his friends was speaking English.
He said: ‘Hola.’
I said: ‘Hola.’
It isn’t really very much to work with, but I replay it again and again.
He was going to breakfast at half past eight. Tomorrow I will go to breakfast at half past eight too, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get there without my parents.
