Dizzy

by Unknown

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘It’s Mum,’ I say. ‘She’s not here any more. Not for three, four weeks. She’s gone to India.’

  We stay on at the cottage for a while. Each day, I go to see Finn and Mouse in hospital. I get so I don’t flinch when I see the shiny patches on Finn’s feet, the shimmery cling-film dressings on Mouse’s head and hands and shoulders.

  Finn is well enough to sit in a wheelchair and scoosh along the corridor to see Mouse. His feet are still painful, but they’re healing well.

  ‘Guess I won’t go barefoot in summer, any more,’ he says.

  ‘Guess not.’

  Mouse is chirpier than you’d expect.

  ‘I nearly made it, didn’t I?’ he says one visiting time. ‘It was a pretty good jump, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Mouse! You could have been killed!’

  ‘Nah,’ he says. ‘Next time, I’ll do it for sure.’

  ‘No next time, Mouse,’ I tell him gently.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No,’ Finn says sternly. ‘No way.’

  Mouse shrugs.

  I take a deep breath and tell Mouse about moving the ramp. ‘It’s my fault, isn’t it?’ I ask him. ‘My fault it went wrong?’

  ‘How far did you kick the ramp?’

  ‘Not far, it was heavy. A few inches?’ I spread my fingers, guessing at the distance.

  Mouse shakes his head sadly. ‘Shouldn’t have made any difference,’ he says. ‘It was a perfect jump. It was just that branch that got in the way. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried the bar spin?’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have tried any of it!’

  Mouse grins. ‘It was for you,’ he says. ‘For you and Finn.’

  Finn reaches out and tweaks his ear, the one that isn’t cocooned in cling film. The one that isn’t burnt. ‘I know, Mouse,’ he says. ‘I know, little mate.’

  ‘I nearly made it,’ Mouse says again.

  ‘Yeah, you nearly did.’

  But nearly isn’t good enough.

  A nurse comes to change the dressings, and we glimpse patches of weird, puckered skin on Mouse’s neck and cheek and ear and hands and shoulders. The nurse says the scarring will fade, but it won’t go away. Mouse looks in the mirror and pulls a face. He doesn’t look too bothered.

  The whole time Mouse is in hospital, the nurses and social workers are trying to work out what to do with him. They contact the detox clinic in London. The doctors there say his mum is getting better, but she’s still not well enough to look after him. With difficulty, they get a message to Zak in Goa. He rings the hospital and speaks to the doctors, rings the social services and speaks to Mouse’s case worker. Finally he rings the cottage and speaks to Tess.

  Tess waves us through to the living room and puts the call on speakerphone, so we can hear what he says. We watch as she goes over things one more time for Zak.

  ‘I’m so sorry it happened,’ she says. ‘We’re all sorry. The doctors say he’s doing well.’

  Things are at a difficult stage with the healing centre, Zak says. There’s so much work still to be done to get it up and running, and Josh is relying on him. Coming back to England is kind of awkward right now.

  ‘Couldn’t Mouse just stay with you a bit longer?’ Zak asks.

  Tess has to explain about the social workers. ‘They’re not all that happy about the situation,’ she says. ‘I’ve said he can stay here, of course I have. But it’s not that simple. Zak, if you don’t come back and get him, I think they might take him into care.’

  ‘No, no, they won’t do that, surely,’ says Zak.

  We lean against the sofa, watching Tess.

  ‘I think that they will,’ she tells him.

  Zak is silent for a while.

  ‘I suppose he could come out here,’ he says at last, grudgingly. ‘Only there’s nobody to watch out for him, really. I’d just worry about him being safe. Unless Dizzy could come out to keep an eye on him?’

  Dad grabs the phone from Tess. ‘Dizzy can’t,’ he says crisply. ‘Dizzy has school to go to, a life to live. She can’t go chasing to the other side of the world to babysit your son. He’s your responsibility, poor little kid. Can you put Storm on the line?’

  ‘Storm can’t come to the phone right now.’

  ‘No, I bet she can’t.’

  Dad hands the receiver back to Tess, trembling with anger.

  Zak starts asking whether Amber and Carl have paid up for the tepee yet. Money’s a bit tight in Goa, he says. Could Tess chase up the cash for him?

  Tess stares at the telephone, speechless.

  ‘Who is this creep, anyway?’ Dad asks out loud.

  ‘Hello? Tess?’ Zak is saying. ‘About the money. Is anyone there?’

  ‘Hi, Zak?’ Tess says. ‘I have to go now. Give my love to Storm, and tell her Dizzy’s safe with her dad again. And, Zak, give Mouse a call at the hospital, yeah? He’d love to hear from you. OK?’

  She puts the phone down, and rests her head in her hands.

  ‘Poor Mouse,’ says Finn’s gran. ‘D’you think he’ll ring?’

  ‘Maybe,’ says Tess.

  He doesn’t, of course.

  Finn’s out of hospital first, but I’m well away by then, back in the drizzle and gloom of Birmingham.

  We keep in touch, with letters and phone calls. Tess and Finn see Mouse just about every day. They say the doctors are pleased with his progress, but it’s November before he’s finally discharged. A social worker is taking him to London, to a foster family near the clinic where his mum is staying. He’ll get to visit, maybe, when she’s a bit better.

  Dad and I travel up north to say goodbye. Tess and Finn meet us at the railway station, and we drive to the hospital together through the thin November sunshine.

  Mouse is waiting for us in the hospital foyer, his new social worker standing guard. We wave and hug and then stand around, awkward and embarrassed, not wanting to say goodbye.

  Mouse is clean and neat, but the smile has gone. His cheeky, flashing eyes are dull and quiet, his face closed, sullen. The burns are way better, and his hair has grown back to a stubbly crew cut. It looks weird, like the clothes they’ve given him to wear, all trackies and sporty, label stuff.

  ‘Can we have some time?’ Tess asks the social worker. ‘On our own?’

  The social worker, a young man with gold-rimmed specs and a toothy grin, says he’ll wait. ‘Not too long, mind. It’s a long drive to London, hey Mouse?’

  Mouse scowls. A very long drive, I think.

  We go outside, the social worker trailing at a distance. He finds a bench and sits down, watching us. Dad hangs back too, while Tess, Finn and I walk out across the grass with Mouse.

  ‘Hang on, Mouse,’ Finn says suddenly. ‘Got a surprise for you!’

  He runs off towards the car park, still limping a little.

  ‘We’ll miss you,’ Tess says into the silence. ‘We’ll ring, see how you’re settling in.’

  Mouse looks away.

  ‘It’s not for long,’ she says brightly. ‘Your mum will be well enough to look after you, soon. And you’ll be living nearby, they’ll take you to visit her. That’ll be good, won’t it?’

  Mouse kicks at a stone, scuffing up some turf on the toe of his new trainers.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ I whisper.

  His eyes snap up to mine, blazing. ‘You promised,’ he says, his lower lip quivering. ‘You promised you’d look after me, you and Finn. You said you wouldn’t let the bad people get me! You said!’

  I fling my arms round him and hug him tight. ‘I won’t, I won’t, I never will,’ I tell him. ‘I promise, Mouse, never!’

  When we pull apart, he looks at me so sadly that I wonder if Mouse’s ‘bad people’ really are the lowlifes and the thieves I imagined. Maybe not. Maybe it’s not that simple. Maybe they’re the people trying to help, like the nice social worker with the trendy specs and the wide grin, sitting on a bench with his newspaper.

  ‘It’ll be OK, Mouse,’
I tell him.

  He nods, trying for a smile, acting brave.

  ‘They washed my mouse,’ he says, holding out a pale, battered, unrecognizable toy. ‘He’s not the same any more. D’you want him?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. So you won’t forget me.’

  ‘Oh, Mouse, how could I?’

  I take the toy mouse, anyway. It’s still kind of scorched all down one side, from the bonfire.

  ‘Hey, watch out!’

  We turn just in time to see Leggit racing towards us, a streak of black and white, tail waving like a flag. She circles Mouse, yelping wildly, then leaps up and topples him on to the grass, licking his face, making muddy pawprints on his new grey sweatshirt.

  ‘Leggit! Bad girl! Hey, hey!’ Mouse laughs, and he hugs her, ruffling her raggedy fur, patting her skinny ribs. He hangs on for ages, hiding his face in her fur, and when he comes up for air, his cheeks are streaked with tears.

  ‘Got something in my eye,’ he says gruffly.

  ‘Yeah, I know, little mate,’ Finn says, dragging a sleeve across his face. ‘Me, too.’

  So I’m back in the land of stripy school ties and maths tests and shared Cokes, of hot showers and takeaway pizzas and Sky TV. I walk around the flat barefoot, letting my toes sink into the soft carpet, wishing it was cool grass, hot sand, scratchy shells. I open windows and breathe in exhaust fumes, pollution, the thump of a ghetto blaster from across the road.

  After Christmas, Lucy moves into the flat. I don’t mind as much as I thought I would.

  She fills the bathroom with fruity shower gels and scented candles and soap that smells like coconut ice. When Dad’s working late in the workshop, we watch slushy films and eat toffee popcorn and do each other’s hair. The models he makes of elves and fairies and sad-faced mermaids all start to look a bit like Lucy. It’s OK.

  Jade and Sara and Sasha pump me for information about Finn.

  ‘Are you in love?’ Sasha wants to know. ‘Or was it just a crush?’

  I laugh. ‘Don’t know about love. It’s just – he’s my best friend. Apart from you guys, of course!’

  Or maybe even including.

  ‘Did you kiss him?’ Jade demands.

  ‘Like I’m gonna tell you that!’

  ‘You did! She did!’ Sara squeals, and they collapse in hysterics, making kissy-kissy noises and fluttering their lashes.

  One day, when I’m feeling brave, I show them the pictures I took with the camera Lucy gave me. There’s Tess, in a flower crown, looking up from the Calor gas stove outside the tent. There’s Zak, juggling batons in the veggie patch at Bramble Cottage, and Storm, her face a swirl of pink and purple face paint, sticking her tongue out at the camera.

  And there’s Finn, cradling my guitar on the sand at Ayr beach; Finn sitting by the waterfall; Finn’s face, close-up and crusted with sand, his eyes the same colour as the turquoise ocean.

  ‘He’s cool,’ Jade says. ‘Weird, but cool.’

  ‘Amazing eyes,’ Sara breathes.

  ‘And hair,’ says Sasha. ‘I wonder if he’ll be famous one day? And you can say you knew him.’

  When we get to the last photo, Mouse and Leggit cuddled up in the tree house, the breath catches in my throat.

  ‘Funny little kid,’ says Jade.

  ‘Cute,’ says Sasha, not meaning it.

  Sara, who knows how I feel about Mouse, squeezes my arm. ‘He’s OK, Dizz,’ she tells me. ‘You said so yourself. Maybe you’ll get to go down and see him next year?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Mouse has settled in really well with his new foster parents. He sees his real mum most weekends. She’s out of the clinic now, and off the drugs, but she’s not ready to look after Mouse again, not yet. I wonder how he feels about that? I wonder if he still has nightmares, cries in his sleep? It’s not the kind of thing you can ask on the phone.

  He’s going to school and learning to read and write, anyway.

  ‘Still practising your juggling?’ I asked, last time I called. ‘And the BMX stunts?’

  There was a silence.

  ‘I’ve got a GameBoy,’ he said uncertainly.

  ‘Oh. Right. That’s great, Mouse.’

  ‘Does Leggit miss me?’ he asked then, all in a rush.

  ‘Oh, Mouse, of course she does. Who’s gonna feed her Mars bars and cold chips when you’re not around? She misses you every day. We all do.’

  Sometimes, every couple of months, I get a little parcel from Mouse, addressed to me in his foster mum’s neat, sloping handwriting – a Mars bar, sometimes squashed, sometimes not. I never really know if it’s for me or for Leggit, so we share it, half each.

  Leggit lives with us, now.

  Tess couldn’t keep her because of the way she chased the goat and the cat and the chickens, the way she raced circuits round the garden, crashing through the flower beds, tearing up the lettuce plants. ‘I will if I have to, of course, but…’

  ‘Why should you?’ Dad had argued. ‘Storm should have thought. All her life she’s left a trail of hurt and mess behind her.’

  ‘Shhh,’ Tess said, looking at me. Like it was something I didn’t already know.

  ‘Will Leggit have to go to the dog’s home?’ I asked Dad.

  ‘No,’ he’d said firmly. ‘No way. Leggit’s coming home with us.’

  She did.

  The spiky, excitable festival dog who stole your chips and knocked you over with her tail is gone forever. Leggit gets brushed every day, so her hair is soft and clean and fluffy. She wears a red leather collar and walks on a lead without pulling. She has two big meals and never scrounges in between. Dad takes her to dog-training classes, and now she can sit, lie, stay, walk to heel.

  She is a reformed character. Just occasionally, when she’s lying upside down on the white, fluffy rug by the fire, her legs in the air, I think I catch a glimpse of her wicked, wolfish side. Maybe, when we visit Finn and Tess this summer, it’ll surface again.

  We’re all going, Dad and Lucy and Leggit and me. We’ve tried to arrange for Mouse to come out, too, but his foster parents aren’t too keen. I guess I can see their point of view. They probably think it’s some mad hippy commune where kids run wild and dangerous accidents lurk round every corner. How could you ever explain to them that it’s the one place Mouse was truly happy?

  Dad and Lucy have bought a tent specially – a big, fancy one with two bedrooms and a flashy porch at the front. We’re going as soon as school is over, and that’s not long, now.

  Tomorrow is my birthday.

  We’re changing the tradition – we’re going out for a meal, Dad and Lucy and me, then on to the multiplex to see a film. Things evolve, Dad says. They can’t stay the same forever, they change the same way we do.

  My room is different, too – the pinboard shrine full of treasures is gone. I packed away the doll, the hat, the postcards. I still have them, but I don’t have them on show. I wrapped up the dreamcatcher and sent it to Mouse. I reckon he needs all the help he can get, these days.

  Now, my pinboard holds the photo of Finn with turquoise eyes, the snap of Mouse and Leggit in the tree house, a whole strip of Jade and Sasha and Sara and me, pulling scary faces, taken at a photo booth in town. Also skewered on are a Mars bar wrapper, a lime-green and black bootlace, a broken daisy chain, a small, faded, slightly toasted toy mouse. Bits of my life, things that make me smile.

  A handful of envelopes sit on my bedside table, cards waiting to be opened tomorrow. One from Tess, one from Finn, with a small, hard bumpy shape inside that might be a bracelet. There’s a jiffy bag with a London postmark and a Mars bar kind of feel to it, addressed for the first time in Mouse’s own big, wobbly writing.

  Nothing from Storm. Why am I surprised?

  She wrote at Christmas, anyhow, so I guess I can’t complain. She sent me a length of sari fabric, purple silk shot through with silver threads. I’ve hung it at my bedroom window, along with the flowery fairy lights that used to drape round the pinboa
rd.

  Dizzy, babe, she wrote,

  Hope you like the sari. Someone gave it to me, but it’s silk, and vegans don’t wear silk, so I thought of you. You’d love Goa, Dizz, I wish your Dad would loosen up a bit and let you come stay. We’d have the wildest time. Zak says hi. We’re sitting on the beach, listening to rave music, just smoking and watching the stars above a silver sea. How cool is that?

  Love,

  Storm xxxxx

  It’s cool, Storm, pretty cool. Maybe I will go, one day.

  Maybe not.

  I switch the light off, slip into bed.

  The breeze rustles the purple silk, and beyond it I see the night sky, mottled orange from the city’s streetlamp glow. If Storm looks up from her beach in Goa, she’ll see the Pole Star, hanging there in the velvet dark. If Finn looks out of his window in Lancashire, he’ll see it, too. Mouse, in London, won’t even be looking.

  I’m looking, though. All I see is the orange glow, the soft, bruised shimmer of city sky. I can’t see the Pole Star, but I can feel it, dream it.

  I know it’s there.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dizzy

  1

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  3

  4

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  13

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