‘Er . . . maybe not . . .’ said Lucy. ‘They look about as helpful as my brothers are at this sort of thing.’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, Mac and Squidge will be here later too.’
At the mention of Mac, Izzie perked up. ‘Mac and Squidge?’
I nodded. ‘Lia and Becca have gone over to Plymouth, but the boys promised they’d come.’
‘Er . . . maybe we could drop back later and give you a hand clearing up, eh?’ said Izzie.
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Call my mobile,’ said Izzie.
‘Yeah, because she really really wants to help you clear up,’ said Nesta. ‘It’s not because Mac is going to be here or anything . . .’
Lucy gave her a light slap on her arm. ‘Give her a break, Nesta. It’s love. Don’t interfere.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Nesta objected. ‘I was merely stating the obvious.’
‘Which is obvious,’ said Lucy as she motioned zipping her lips. ‘So shut it.’
‘Later,’ said TJ as the girls headed off down the hill, still squabbling as they went.
Halfway down the hill, Izzie turned and held up her mobile. ‘Call me,’ she mouthed.
The first couple of hours of the sale went by in a flash and we sold almost three-quarters of the stuff, but not without having to make some severe reductions. It was amazing. Some items we were virtually giving away, but people still wanted to bargain and knock the price down.
We sold jigsaw puzzles, a lamp without a shade, a tatty old bath mat, a teapot that was missing its lid. Seemed that everything was wanted by someone. Joe and Emma were hopeless, but Luke turned out to be a great salesperson and he was tough with the old dears who were trying to get what they could for free.
‘Woah! Joe, NO!’ I called out as I spotted that he was about to put out a bag of clothes that wasn’t to be sold. I had put the bag aside in the upstairs hall before we left in the morning and had meant to put it in the sitting room with the other bags ready to take to the new house. I hadn’t noticed that somehow it had been brought up to the car boot sale instead.
‘What?’ he asked as he threw his arms up in the air. ‘What am I doing wrong now?’
‘Nothing,’ I said as I rescued the bag from him. ‘Just that lot’s not for sale.’
‘Oh pardon me for trying to be helpful,’ he said.
I took the bag from him and put it back into the van, then stuck a Post-it note on it saying: Not For Sale!!!
It wasn’t as if there was anything valuable in there, but the clothes were precious to me. They had belonged to Mum and I had kept them tucked away in my wardrobe for years. Dad had put them aside after her death and had meant to either give them to someone we knew or take them to a charity shop. I had stolen them and hidden them. I’m sure that Dad knew that they were there, but he never said anything. They were all that I had left of her, apart from a few photos in the albums and the shoe box in which I kept a few trinkets: bits of her old jewellery, an empty bottle of the perfume she used to wear (Mitsouko by Guerlain) and a letter that she’d written when she knew that she was ill and might not recover. She’d asked Dad to give it to me just before I started secondary school. The letter was one of my greatest treasures. I’d read it so many times, I knew it off by heart.
My darling girl,
All grown up and ready to start a new school, and how I wish I was going to be there to see it. I wanted to write to you and tell you how proud I am of you. You have been a strength to me over the last year and the light of my days.
Be strong, Cat. Be true to yourself and always be brave, as I know you will be. God bless. My love will always be with you,
Your mum
My mum. I knew so little about her. Who she was. What had made her laugh and cry. I couldn’t remember. Sometimes I wondered what she was like at my age – did she have crushes or feel awkward or shy about anything? What was she into? I was sad that I could never ask her.
‘So who’s hungry?’ asked Dad, coming back laden with food from a stall on the next aisle over. He began handing it out. ‘A doughnut for Emma. Bacon sarnies for the rest of us.’
Joe and Luke took theirs and began tucking in energetically. I put mine aside.
‘Not eating, Cat?’ Dad asked.
I shook my head. Actually I had decided that I might be vegetarian. It was another of the things that impressed me about Izzie. She didn’t make a song or dance about it or try to lay it on anyone and make them feel guilty about eating meat, but I’d noticed that she didn’t, and when I asked her about it, she said that she couldn’t bear to eat anything that had once had a pulse and breathed. I had never even thought about it before, but the more I did, the more I wanted to be vegetarian as well. However, as the alluring smell of bacon wafted up towards me, I decided that maybe I could make a new start in the new house. Part of the fresh chapter that Jen was on about. ‘Er – yes, thanks, Dad,’ I said and tucked in with the rest of them.
After a while, the first rush of eager buyers drifted off, the stalls grew quiet and Dad went off to his shop for the afternoon.
‘Go and have a quick look around, Cat,’ said Luke. ‘We can manage here.’
‘Thanks, kid,’ I said.
‘I’m not a kid,’ said Luke. ‘You seem to forget that I am twelve now.’
‘Ooh, sorry.’
Luke put his hands up to his ears and waggled them whilst sticking his tongue out.
‘Yeah. Very grown up,’ I said and stuck my tongue out back at him.
Of course, Emma insisted on coming round the sale with me, and together we took off and cruised the stalls. It was an eye-opener to see what was on sale. You name it, it was there on someone’s stall: kitchen stuff, bathroom stuff, tatty old curtains, linens, clothes, shoes, faded toys, DVDs, LPs, framed paintings, knick-knacks, unwanted Christmas presents – even old buttons, screws, nuts, bolts and bits of old cars! All aspects of people’s lives laid out in front of them.
After looking around for half an hour, we headed back for our stall. From a distance, I could see that Mac and Squidge had arrived so I quickly called Izzie to let her know.
‘I’m already on my way,’ she said. ‘It was too windy for me on the beach so I left the others. Be with you in a mo.’
As I approached the stall, I could see, like Joe and Luke had done earlier, that Squidge and Mac thought it was a good idea to wear some of the clothes on sale. Squidge had on a pink blouse and skirt, and Mac was wearing a ladies’ coat. I could see straight away whose clothes they were. Mum’s. From the Not For Sale bag. And Mac was about to sell one of her dresses to Mrs McNelly from the post office.
‘Noooooooooooooooooooooo,’ I cried as I ran towards the stall and grabbed the dress. ‘No. You can’t buy that.’
Mrs McNelly grabbed it back. ‘I saw it first. First come, first served.’
I grabbed it back from her. ‘But you can’t.’
‘Hey, Cat, the whole idea of one of these sales is that you sell the gear,’ said Squidge.
‘But these things were my mum’s. They weren’t meant to be sold. In fact I put them in the van out of the way. Who got them out? Luke?’
‘I didn’t know,’ he said and for a moment, looked like he was going to cry. ‘I didn’t know they were our mum’s. You never said. I thought it was Jen’s old stuff.’
Mrs McNelly immediately gave me back the dress. ‘Sorry, Cat, love, of course you have it,’ she said and scurried away. She had known my mum. Everyone in the village had.
‘Have you sold anything else?’ I asked.
Mac looked sheepish. ‘Jacket. Herringbone. Just now.’
I thought I was going to burst into tears. ‘Please, please, get it back.’
Mac set off down the hill at double-speed and almost knocked over Izzie, who was coming up towards us. He grabbed her hand. ‘Mission: Recovery,’ he said and dragged her off.
Squidge and Luke were very sympathetic when they’d gone, and helped me fold up the rest of Mum’s
things that had been put out. Joe looked on with a strange expression on his face.
‘Why didn’t you tell us they were Mum’s?’ he asked.
‘Er . . . I don’t know. I guess I would have at some point,’ I replied.
Joe looked sad. ‘I can’t remember her at all,’ he said after a short while. ‘Can’t even picture her face.’
I put my arm round him, but he shrugged me off and picked up one of Mum’s shirts. He was only three when she died.
‘I want to go home now,’ he said, and for a moment he looked so much younger than his nine years.
‘Me too,’ said Emma. ‘This is booooring.’
‘Not much longer,’ I said. ‘But I guess we could start to pack up.’
Mac and Izzie were back about twenty minutes later.
‘Phew,’ said Mac. ‘Talk about a hard person to bargain with. The lady who bought the jacket wasn’t local and she thought I was making it up about the jacket belonging to your dead mother . . . er – sorry, Cat, I mean—’
‘I know,’ I said, and took the jacket from him. ‘It’s OK. Thanks.’
‘Cost us five quid to get it back,’ said Izzie.
‘And she only paid three quid for it,’ sighed Mac. ‘Talk about inflation.’
‘I’ll give it to you out of our profits,’ I said. As I folded the jacket to put it back in with Mum’s other things, I felt something in the pocket. I went round to the side of the van so that no one could see what I was doing and fished about to see what it was. I drew out a metal key. It looked exactly the right size to open Mum’s trunk.
‘CAT, WHERE’S THE COFFEE?’Jen called up the stairs.
‘With the stuff in the box in the kitchen labelled Shoe Cleaners,’ I called back.
It was Sunday and the day of the move, everywhere was pandemonium and I’d been trying to get a moment to myself all morning. I closed the bedroom door and went back to Mum’s trunk. I had hidden it under the bottom bunk with a couple of blankets over it so that no one would know that it was there. I meant to look at it the night before when I got back from saying goodbye to the London girls, who were preparing for their return home; however, with the last-minute packing and Dad insisting that Emma have an early night, there was no time alone in our room.
At last, a moment had presented itself in the morning, when everyone was downstairs and I was by myself in the bedroom. I pulled the trunk out and knelt on the floor. I knew that I should tell Dad about it because there might be private stuff of Mum’s in there. And I knew that at some time, I should tell Luke, Joe and Emma. And I would. I just wanted a few moments alone with what I found first. I held my breath and tried the key in the lock. Bingo! It fitted. I was about to turn the key when there was another yell up the stairs.
‘CAAAAAT! Where are the mugs? Have they all been packed?’ Jen called.
‘Yes. They’re in the box labelled Pans.’
‘And the sugar?’
‘In the box labelled Crockery.’
There was the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, so I quickly shoved the trunk back under the bed and stood up just in time as Jen came through the door. She was wearing jeans and an old red shirt and she looked flustered.
‘Honestly,’ she said as pulled her long blond hair out of its clip, shook it loose, then scraped it back up again. ‘Your filing system needs a code breaker.’
‘I know where everything is,’ I said, and positioned myself so that my legs were in front of the bunk beds and so she couldn’t see Mum’s trunk.
‘Well, thank God one of us does,’ she said as she began to poke around in the wardrobe and in the drawers. ‘Everything gone from in here?’
I nodded and tried to usher her out. ‘All downstairs. There’s just some bedding which I will pack up. And later Dad needs to disassemble the bunk beds ready for the truck and then – hurrah hurrah – later reassemble them in the new bedrooms, but as two single separate beds.’
Jen put her arm around me and gave me a squeeze. ‘It’s about time you had your own room, Cat. Any ideas about decorating it yet?’
‘I change my mind every day.’
‘I’m like that about the wedding . . .’
‘What! You mean about marrying Dad?’
Jen laughed. ‘No. Not about marrying him. Nothing could change my mind about that. No, I meant about what to wear. Finalising the flowers, the details of the reception. Oh God, just thinking about it makes me panic. I’ve hardly done anything and it’s going to be upon us before we know it. I’ve been so busy planning the move that everything else has gone on the back burner.’
‘My friend, Lucy, is a dress designer,’ I said. ‘And she has fab taste. When we go up to look for the dresses, maybe we could take her along?’
‘Sure,’ said Jen. ‘That would be good, because we’re going to have to get it all settled on that one trip.’
It had long been decided that we’d go to London to buy Jen’s dress, shoes and whatever else, as there is so much more choice in the stores up there. We were also going to look at bridesmaid’s clothes for me. Emma already had her outfit – she got it in Plymouth last week when she went shopping with Jen. It was mad, but totally Emma: a bright-pink fairy outfit, complete with silver wings and tiara. She looked so cute in it and wanted to wear it all the time, but Jen said not until the big day.
I wished I’d been able to find something in Plymouth as I had mixed feelings about going up to London. One part of me felt thrilled, as it’s the Big City, but another part felt apprehensive because of the trouble there in past years. I’d tried to talk to Dad about it, but he told me not to be ridiculous and that we mustn’t give in to terrorist threats. He was probably right. A trip up to London would be fun, and TJ had already said I could stay with her, and also, if there was time, I could meet up with Jamie. He’s a mate of Lia’s brother, Ollie, and is the boy I hooked up with on the recent birthday treat trip to Morocco. It was Mrs Axford’s fortieth birthday and Mr Axford flew a bunch of us over for a long weekend. It was the trip of a lifetime for me, because I’d never flown and never been further than London before, plus we stayed in an unbelievably fabtastic place. I’d loved every second of it and it was made all the more special by spending time with Jamie. Ollie wasn’t very pleased, as he thought he had a claim on me just because we had hung out a few times when he was down from his boarding school in London. However, a few weeks before the trip, I found out that up in London he had also been seeing TJ. Neither of us knew about each other until we met. Anyway, after that, I didn’t feel that I owed him anything. No doubt, he is one of the best-looking boys I’ve ever met and he can be fun, but he’s a player. I’d always known that he was not one to get emotionally attached to or else I’d end up with a broken heart. Jamie, on the other hand, was a sweetie. OK, not as handsome as Ollie, but he was cute in his own way and made me laugh. He’d been e-mailing me regularly since the trip, and in each e-mail he said that he wanted to see me again. That was one of the things I liked about him. He came out and said what he meant. No games or trying to be cool.
Jen glanced out of the window and then at her watch. ‘Oh Lord. Here’s the removal van already. Oh God. Here we go. Come on, Cat, you’d better come down and help us load up.’
The rest of the morning was spent carrying cases, boxes and bags out to the van. Dad and one of his mates from the village helped the removal men carry furniture and heavier items, and soon the first load was ready to go.
‘Right, Cat,’ said Dad as he slammed the back doors of the van shut. ‘Luke and Joe are coming with me to help unload the other end. Emma’s going with Jen in her car to begin setting up the new kitchen, so you stay here, have a last look around and anything that still needs to be taken, put in the hall. Don’t lift anything too heavy and I’ll be back in a couple of hours to take the beds and last bits.
I watched the van chug off down the road, soon to be followed by Emma (who was wearing her bridesmaid’s tiara) and Jen in her car.
As the car disa
ppeared around the corner, I went back inside. I closed the front door behind me and the house felt eerily quiet. I went from room to room. It was weird to see them so empty: rugs rolled up, the walls bare. I wished that Dad had left a radio so at least I could have turned on some sound to fill the silence.
Having checked downstairs, I went back up and began to fold bedding from all the beds and put it in big black bin liners. When all was done and packed, there was nothing left to do but open the trunk. It was the ideal time – no one around, no disturbances – and yet I found myself hesitating. I went into what was Mum and Dad’s old room, for a last look. I could still picture Mum lying in the bed in the months before she left us. She had always tried to be so cheerful although, as time went on, I could see what a strain it was on her. I crossed the room and looked out of the window down at the garden. I remembered happier times when she was well: playing with Joe in a paddling pool, squirting him with the hose pipe. Bringing out a birthday cake with candles for Luke – for me, on my birthday. I remembered her in the kitchen cooking endless meals for us. Shepherd’s pie was her speciality and she made a mean apple crumble. I thought about Emma. She would have none of these memories, as she was only a baby when Mum died. No wonder she adores Jen now and follows her everywhere like a faithful puppy. But Jen isn’t her mum.
A feeling of sudden panic came over me. We shouldn’t be leaving this house. It was wrong. It was here that Mum had lived and been a part of our family. If we left then the already-fading memories would disappear completely. Like a painting left out in the rain: the image disintegrating into rivulets of colour, then washing away to leave a blank canvas. I felt my throat tighten with emotion and tears spring to my eyes. I was afraid that I would forget my mum in the new house. The new chapter in which she didn’t have a role. As I looked around the room that had once been so full of her belongings, her clothes, her presence, her scent and saw only silence and emptiness, I tried to recall more memories of her. Past times I could take with me into the future – but they wouldn’t come. I couldn’t even remember the sound of her voice any more.
All Mates Together Page 3
