‘Where’s Trim?’ I asked.
‘Trim? He’s back in the secure unit. Where the hell else? Serves him.’
‘Why? What’d he do now?’
‘Slashing car tyres or something. Whatever. Who cares? Trim and I are history,’ she droned, and laughed some more.
I wanted to check out my old room, to see if the gold lamé curtains were still there, but it was Ash’s now. In the end, it was better to say my foster dad was outside waiting and I couldn’t stop.
‘So long, Grace,’ I said.
She stared at her fingernails as if she’d just had a manicure. The cuticles were torn and red. She’d been picking at them with her nail scissors. She stroked her neck some more.
‘See you around, Grace,’ I said. I went up close on account of her eyes were filling like she was about to cry. I wanted to touch her beauty braids but didn’t dare. ‘Grace?’
‘You’re a witch, Holly.’ She said it like a spit.
‘A witch. Me?’
‘Yeah, you. You and your fancy new foster home. Fucking cow-witch. That’s what Trim said, before they took him away.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Yeah, you are.’
I shrugged. ‘The foster place. ’S not that great, really, Grace.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Dunno. They fuss.’
‘Fuss?’
‘Yeah. They nag.’
‘Nag?’
‘All bleeding day. Nag, nag.’
‘How nag?’
‘Like I can’t put things down on the table without a mat.’
Grace’s nose wrinkled. ‘A mat?’
‘Yeah, you know. To stop the stains. Only they call them coasters.’
‘Coasters?’
‘Yeah. It’s posh talk for a mat.’
‘Coasters.’ She said cooosters, all lah-di-dah, and I laughed. ‘Pull down that zip, Holly. You look like a bloody nun with it up round your neck like that.’
I pulled the zip down to my bra-line.
‘Mr and Mrs Coooster,’ she crooned, and we fell about laughing.
‘So it’s not as good there as here?’ Grace’s hands fluttered, gesturing round the room.
‘Nah. No way.’
‘So why don’t you come back?’
I made like I was blowing out a cloud of smoke. ‘Ash is in my room now. Remember?’
‘Oh, yeah. Ash. So?’
‘So. I wouldn’t want to share with no Ash.’
‘Ash is only temporary.’
I fiddled with my zip, shuffled my feet. ‘When she’s gone, maybe I’ll be back then.’
‘Huh. You’re a liar.’ She knew and I knew. Templeton House was a one-way turnstile. ‘You’re not coming back, Holly. I can tell. You’re a cow-witch.’ The next second she was off the sofa and drifting out the door before I could answer. Her brown shoulders were shaking up and down. I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.
‘Grace,’ I yelled. ‘Don’t go.’
The door swung to behind her. She was going clean out of my life like she’d never been.
‘Grace?’ I cried. ‘Please. Come back.’
No reply.
Cow-witch yourself, I thought. I kicked the chair where she’d been sitting. I looked around the old familiar room and thought of the fights over what to watch and Trim raving on about Titanic. The TV was on with the sound turned down and the weather woman wearing her worst mogit jacket was pointing at the map of England with that cheesy grin weather people always have, especially if rain’s coming. I found the remote and turned it off. Then I kicked the remote under the sofa so nobody’d find it.
That’ll teach them, I thought.
If Ray and Fiona send me back here, I thought, I’ll kill myself.
I left that room for the last time and I walked out the front door on my own with nobody to say goodbye to, just Ray waiting outside. I walked down the drive, looking at the cracked path with weeds in it, and I wanted to burn the place to the ground.
I got into Ray’s car and on the way back I stared out the side window. I didn’t want Ray to see my leaky eyes. He put a tape on of some weirdo band I’d never heard of and hummed along. The music was soft and dreamy with this woman’s voice going on about how this guy flies a plane and makes the jet trail write her name in the sky.
‘Yeah, right,’ I muttered. ‘Like anyone would ever do that.’
Ray smiled. ‘Ah, but can’t you just picture it?’ He waved a hand at the sky. ‘Holly Hogan, up there in letters so big it’s all anyone can see. Your name’s made out of cloud, Holly.’
I kept looking out the window. I didn’t say anything.
‘So,’ he asked as the song ended. ‘How did you find it?’
I didn’t know if he meant the song or the Home. I started sobbing loud and couldn’t stop. It was the thought of my name shining in the sky, like in the song, and Miko, looking up from north London and maybe seeing it and remembering me. I couldn’t hide it. My face was mashed. Ray stopped the car. He found a hanky and passed it over but didn’t say anything. I felt him waiting.
‘Huh, Holly,’ he grunted after a bit. ‘That bad?’
That nearly set me off again, but he started up the car and drove on and I swallowed it down so it sat like a heavy dinner in my belly. He said nothing more. I wanted to die with shame. I cursed Grace and Trim and Miko and the Home and the social services. Then I cursed the Aldridges and Rachel. Then I cursed myself and the song and the coasters and everything I could see from the car, and when it started hammering with rain I was glad.
Nine
Solace of the Road
That night I smuggled Ray’s road map of Britain up to my room. It’s time to get serious, girl, I thought. I looked up the roads from London, north, south, east and west. I found one, a long rambling snake, that went west. Some roads joined up with others and ran out. This one, the A40, didn’t. Oxford. Cheltenham. My fingers traced out the towns. It went right through Wales. Abergavenny. Llandovery. Llandeilo. Carmarthen. I said the names even though I didn’t know how they were pronounced. Lan-day-low. Lando-very. The road hit the sea at a place called Fishguard. Then a dotted line kept on going over the sea like a road, only it was the path the ferries took. On the coast of Ireland, at the edge of the page, the dotted line bumped into Rosslare.
I thought myself onto a hill above Fishguard with sheep baaing. Below were fields, wavy squares of tall crops. Beyond that was a great wall of blue. The sea, where white sails headed west to Ireland.
I put the wig on and I thought myself into Solace of the A40, and the A was for Adventure and the wig was glittering in the evening light. I was Solace the Unstoppable, the smooth-walking, sharp-talking glamour girl, and I was walking into a red sky, ready to hitch a ride. I was crossing the sea and landing in Ireland. Then I was walking up a hill to meet my mam, breathing in the morning air by the pint. That is how I thought myself into the sweet, soft day on the other side of the sea where the grass is green. That night and every night for weeks to come, I traced the road.
Ten
The Iron
It was summer before I turned my dream real, a hot day in June, the day before my birthday. I opened my window over the purple-grey roofs and breathed. The air shone clean and white over the common.
It was the kind of day that pulls you out to play.
Downstairs, Ray was late for work and Fiona was ironing him a shirt. Ray hopped around the kitchen chivvying her and I sat with a bowl of Krispies and my music on. Fiona and Ray didn’t argue much because first, Ray was hardly there, and second, when he was he never said much. Fiona moaned that arguing with him was like arguing with a hat stand. But that morning they did argue, big time. I saw him waving his hands in the air like he was drowning. He snatched at the shirt before it was ironed enough. Curious, I pulled out my earphones.
‘It’s not finished,’ Fiona snapped.
‘It’s fine, Fee. I’m late.’
br />
‘The sleeves are still creased.’
‘I’ll wear the jacket. They won’t see.’ He grabbed the shirt off the ironing board.
‘But it’s boiling out there. Too hot for a jacket.’
‘It’s air-conditioned at work.’
‘You never normally bother with a jacket.’
‘I’ve got an important meeting.’
‘A meeting?’
‘Well, Fee. Kind of. Actually, an interview.’
‘Interview? What interview?’
Ray shrugged, putting on the crumpled shirt. ‘Just a chat, nothing—’
‘ What interview?’
‘Just some job.’
‘What job? Where?’
‘Our firm, still. Up in the northern office, only—’
‘Northern office?’ Fiona squeaked.
I thought of Miko crossing the river, going north. Maybe Ray was heading after him.
‘You didn’t tell me,’ Fiona was shouting. ‘You didn’t ask me.’
‘It’s only—’
Fiona slammed the iron down and stalked out. Only she didn’t put the iron down properly and it fell off the board and crashed to the floor and nearly landed on Ray’s foot. A drawer in my brain slid open. I froze. Ray jumped, then saw me watching and smiled, a funny smile like he and me were on one side and the iron and Fiona were on the other. I slammed the drawer shut. I put the earphones back in and turned up the volume, loud. I pushed away the Krispies and ran upstairs, my heart pounding to the beat of Storm Alert.
The iron was a sign.
Fiona was going downstairs as I was going up.
‘What’s the rush?’ she wailed. ‘Why’s everyone in a rush today?’
I shrugged. In my room, I pulled on my school clothes and crept down again and headed for the door, my head racing ahead of itself with plans.
‘Bye, Fiona,’ I yelled like everything was normal. Maybe it was too loud on account of my music. Fiona appeared in the hall, mouthing something.
‘What, Fiona?’ I bawled. I pulled out the earphones.
‘I thought you couldn’t hear me with those things in. It’s like talking to a wall.’ She came towards me. ‘Look, Holl …’
The nail bomb nearly blew.
‘It’s just to say I’ll be late today,’ Fiona said. ‘You’ve got your key?’
‘Yeah.’
‘There’s something I’ve got to do – a certain something for a certain somebody. Let yourself in and have a sandwich. I’ll be home by six or so.’
I nodded. She looked into my eyes and gave this strange smile. ‘Bye, Fiona,’ I said, and headed out the door.
To get to school I had to cross the common and catch a bus. But that morning I peeled off towards the pond. I sat down on a broken bench and waited. My hands were shaking at the thought of the hot iron landing on the floor by Ray’s foot and I could hear it spitting like they do when you put water on the flat side. There was a sizzling in my brain. I had to concentrate to breathe, as if a plastic bag was over my head. It was only the air and the green grass that saved me from smothering. The sun shone hard and bright. I shut my eyes because the sky house was coming back with the voices of Denny and Mammy, bicker-bicker, their voices going up and up like the lifts did. I concentrated on the ducks squawking, biting each other. The whole world was fighting, with me squashed up in the middle.
This Aldridge crap’s killing me, I thought. They’re not my kind. I’ve gotta get out. Now.
I pictured Miko, with his shaved head and grin, walking up a dusty highway with his thumb sticking out, going from one end of France to the other. And I pictured the A40 snaking its way across England, heading like a river to the sea.
A for Adventure, I thought.
And I smiled. I walked back over the grass the way I’d come, fingering the key to Mercutia Road in my pocket.
I’d done with school and the pit-miseries. I’d done with Tooting Snooting. I’d done with Rachel and the reviews and rules and reports. I’d done with everything. From now on it was me and the wig, and together we made a girl called Solace. And Solace was on her way. Today.
Last time I’d done a runner I’d gone out the door with nothing. I wasn’t making that mistake again.
I let myself back into the house with my key. Fiona had left for her part-time job and Ray had gone to his job with plans and buildings and other mogit stuff up town. And his interview. I closed the front door behind me. The hallway had a sad, waiting-room feel. The whole house was quiet. I couldn’t wait to be gone but I had to fetch my things, not to mention the wig. I was running away serious this time. I had a plan.
I went upstairs and got out my best lizard-skin bag. I put in:
My toothbrush.
iPod and earphones.
Lipstick and mirror.
Hairbrush.
Mobile phone.
Furry pink purse.
Then I went to the shell box on the mantelpiece and got out Mammy’s amber ring. It was like a good-luck charm, golden brown and shaped like an old-fashioned tombstone. In the middle was a black speck, like an insect. Miko’d told me it was a fossil from a world long gone, trapped there for all time. They’d chop your finger off for a ring like that, Holl, Mam’s voice echoed in my head. I smiled and put it safe in the secret zip-up pocket of the lizard-skin bag.
Then I picked up Rosabel from my pillow. I stroked her worn-out ears. ‘Grrr-rap!’ I said.
It was a wrench, but she was too big to fit in the lizard. And with the wig on I was seventeen, not fourteen, too old to be carrying round a toy dog. I put her back on the bed, and her black plastic snout went down between her front paws.
I changed into my best skater stuff, including the new top and my trainers.
Then I went round the house looking for money. I already had six quid in my own purse. I found a tenner in one of Ray’s jackets plus loads of loose change in his trouser pockets. He’d never miss it. I got up to twenty-four quid. Then I got the road map out. I nearly tore out the pages that showed the A40. Then a light bulb came on in my head. Ding. Dumbo. They’ll know where you’re going if you leave it looking like that. So I took the whole thing, thinking I could chuck the parts I didn’t need later.
In the kitchen I saw the ironing board still up and the iron on it. A blanket went over my brain. There was an off-white light, stale and drab, as if a bulb was about to blow. ‘Time to go, Mr and Mrs Empty-Ovary,’ I said out loud. I went back to the living room, only there was no living going on there, just me and the carriage clock and the coasters. That’s the last time I’m going to be told off about putting my mug straight on the table, like coffee rings are a sin, I thought.
Was I really going to go?
Yep.
Last time I ran away, I ended up in the secure unit.
This time, I’m off to a whole new life in a whole new country.
Then I put on the wig. There was a mirror over the carriage clock, gold round the edges. I put my head down and my own hair disappeared into the rim. I pulled the tabs down in front of my ears and scrunched them into my temples. I looked up. I was a Shetland pony. The fringe was too low. So I pulled it back and brushed it out and put my doll-pink lipstick on. Enter a glamour girl, a girl on the move. Enter Solace.
I pouted. I blew myself a kiss. Solace was a case. She didn’t care what other people thought. She had a lorry-load of friends littered over half Ireland. She had a place to go. Cool as a breeze I wrote a note:
Dear Fiona and Ray,
I’ve gone to Tenereef to work in a club with my mate Drew ho sent me tickets and all so don’t bother coming after me, see you and ta for everything,
Holly
I looked at the note and added an X by the ‘Holly’. Then I put my key tidy on the note. Then I left the house. The lizard was on my back, a pretend cigarette in my right hand and a crown of floating blonde upon my head. And the road ahead of me was all mine.
Eleven
The Tube
I went down
the seven steps and down the street and my nose faced the way I was going. I walked with lean long limbs and my hair was smooth and neat as a trick, straight from the hairdresser’s.
In Mercutia Road there was a rule that your door had to be different from the ones either side. Red. Blue. Black. Sludge-grey. Blue again. Never two the same together. If it were down to me, I thought, I’d paint the lot hot pink. The sash windows stared as I went by. My hand itched to pick up a stone and hurl it but I remembered I was on the run so I just turned for the high street and made for the tube. My plan was to head as far west as I could. Every fool knows you can’t hitch a ride from a city. I remembered Miko saying how in France he didn’t thumb in the cities because city people think everyone else is an axe murderer so they won’t stop. I had to get to the edge of London.
Hot stale air hit me as I went in the station. It reminded me of Sunday afternoons cruising with Grace and Trim. But today it was the smell of freedom, the first leg.
Except that my Oyster card was still in my school trousers, back in Snooting Heck. Good start – now I’d have to buy a ticket.
‘Child travelcard,’ I told the kiosk man.
‘You don’t look like no child to me.’
I stared. This hadn’t happened before. Then I remembered the wig. It put three years on me.
‘I’m fourteen, mister,’ I said. ‘Honest.’
‘Tell that to the marines,’ he said. He winked so quick I nearly missed it. Then he tapped his machine and the travelcard flew out and I handed over the money. He scooped out the coins and motioned me on.
I took the escalator down, grinning like I’d won top prize at a beauty gala. Tell THAT to the marines, honey. Then a wind rushed up and I nearly lost the wig. I clamped it down with my spare hand just in time and laughed, a head-case on the loose. Imagine freedom, girl, the tube wind said.
I got a train right away. Balham. Clapham South. The tube hurtled north, snaking on the turns, screeching like fingernails on a blackboard. It smelled of oil and sweat. Newspapers were littered about after the rush hour. Ray would have gone this way earlier. I pictured him hanging onto the bars, his face blank and tired like it is most evenings. His newly ironed shirt would get creased again. An interview for the northern office? I realized then that it didn’t mean north as in north London, like it did for Miko going up Finchley way, because Ray already worked north of the river. It meant north of the country. Which meant that if he got the job he’d be moving off with Fiona, and where would that leave me? Nowhere. I bit my lip. Just as well I’d scooted. Then I heard Ray’s voice like he was sitting next to me. Your name’s made out of cloud, Holly. I shook myself and looked around. Nobody. Only a man with cuts in his jeans and tattoos on his arms, staring at me. All he needed was an axe. He had a bald head and fat cheeks and grey stubble. I stared at my feet. He did some creepy cursing and I was eyeing the emergency cord when the train pulled in at the next stop.